May you stand in centerfield and twirl dandelion stems between your fingertips.
At times, though, you will stand on your toes, your body stressed before a sprint to someplace that lies before you.
You will stretch out for a sinking line drive.
You will only try to cradle a ball stitched with red thread before it hits the earth.
Not all can be caught.
It isn’t the shimmer of the lights playing tricks on your eyes.
And your cleats haven’t come undone.
And you surely did tie your shoes tonight.
But you will lift your head and watch the ball skidding toward the warning track.
How did it possibly get so far beyond you?
It’s ok to wonder, but when you search, notice this:
There is someone to back you up.
Someone else will throw the runner out at third.
Or your pitcher will nod his head at you, grimace and still throw three more strikes.
It isn’t always clear, but the final out will come indeed.
And as you leave the field at last, step lightly over the chalk line if you must.
But then, do rest on wooden benches amongst friends.
They will tell you to forget the ball in your heart. It’s over now.
Have a little bit of water to soothe your throat.
And if you must sit by yourself to search for answers, do so.
But be sure to trace the lines on your palm with the stems of dandelions.
by 