Boxed before life’s field.
Waiting for curveballs.
Watching for an inside fastball to hang.
Kicking frustrations clinging red clay from my spikes.
Swinging at invisible strikes.
Leaning into hopes first pitch.
A mighty swoop, I missed.
Letting anticipation of success of me get the best.
Stepping outside this confining box of time.
Shaking off the hard swing that’s now passed.
Returning, at the plates judge looking, ready I stand.
Standing, leaning perched, praying not to fan.
Stitches and leather sliced green rolling through the air.
Passing me as if I were sitting in a chair.
Two on you, anger calls from the stands.
Unsure of the next event, life will spin my way.
Stepping back, swinging at the air, all I think is not fare.
Waiting across this field I can see, others waiting for me.
At first atop the bag the toeing run.
Second is hopeful just past the base.
Third I see peace inching from its place.
Anxious guardians of life’s field, reaching out gloved fingers, awaiting fates seal.
Into the box fox another chance, standing waiting at him I glance.
Seeing his fear, understanding the call, I cannot wait for a ball.
Whatever comes, whatever life brings, I must swing and connect.
Arms in the air, swirling, swinging, stretched cowhide bites at the air.
Swack, crack, a piece of her I caught, flung back foul over first.
I connected it seems, can truly take a piece of whatever he flings.
Confidence grows as I watch for his fingers and understand what he throws.
Down slips his arm, firing, red stitching spinning his charm.
Up from my shoulder, under his arch, pulling air with my swing mentally I chart.
Thap, frwap, up it returns as life’s best pitch I have burned.
Sailing high over center, well into the stands.
I’ve taken from life’s best, and hit my own grand slam.
Wait for the one, or take from rest, choose your pitch, and give it your best.
Don’t wait for a ball, give it your all.
One day you’ll see, from life’s anxieties you’ll swing free.