He scuffs his cleat
in the dirt, staring
down the glove.
How odd it seems,
this child uneasy
as 35,000 look on.
The woman nods,
knows how he walks,
open, toward her.
Photo: baseball glove by Sean Winters
He scuffs his cleat
in the dirt, staring
down the glove.
How odd it seems,
this child uneasy
as 35,000 look on.
The woman nods,
knows how he walks,
open, toward her.
Photo: baseball glove by Sean Winters
Love it! I always want to write short poems but seem to mostly write long ones. I admire poets who can write the short ones well.
Thank you, Karen! I really love writing them. They always seem tranquil, like tanka, even if they aren’t. Sometimes readers complain they aren’t “meaty” enough, and even I worry about that myself at times, so I’m glad you enjoyed this!