.
switch the direction of those five ugly letters
and it's a sad reflection
or perhaps a misdirection of her beaten, bruised soul.
why does that bag of skin gazing back
look like she's been through a fight,
one where she doesn't know if she's
won or lost?
/
probably the latter then,
otherwise the tattoo of failure wouldn't be
stretched across her lines and wrinkles
branding her on the outside
like a tramp stamp of inner shame.
how much can she get wrong in a lifetime?
/
seems like a lot.
the burden that compresses and compiles,
pulls down her shoulders,
buckles her knees
sinking her weary frame to the ground,
prostrate.
/
the world piles on more and more,
her once smooth juggling act,
to be admired and envied,
too long has become frenzied and frantic,
on the verge of collapse,
all the pieces in the air on their last
go 'round.
/
yet how can she stop?
how.
can.
she.
stop.
the answer is...
she can't.
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Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (24)
Impactful! Hugs!! ☺️
Oh my. I am down the rabbit hole of reading your stories (a hole I happily and intentionally fell down btw) but I’m amazed how 1.) much I’ve missed of yours. 2.) how deeply connected I feel to your writing and the emotions. It’s like you’re writing my atory as I live it. This poem. How can I stop. The level of multitasking and rocking and rolling and being on top of everything that I used to be a superhero. And now I feel like a super failure. Again. Deep resonance. and 3.) how I want to be you when I grow up as a writer
Oh, this was sad. A brand of shame that can't be removed. So relatable.💔
Oh my gosh, did I not comment on this? I could've sworn I did.
There's so much here to feel and despair resonates through the entire experience. I felt this so much! Sad and so beautifully written!
Sending hugs, you know where I am, powerful words
You described a downward spiral so well. I'm so sorry if you've been feeling this way my fear friend. But she can't stop because she's just too strong. That makes her a winner. Sending you lots of love and hugs! ❤️
We find the will to carry on H2, such a fitting tribute to many these days, sadly ❤️ nice poem
You are so gifted, my friend. ❤️ This was profound and so amazingly done. This really got me: "how much can she get wrong in a lifetime?" Ouch - felt that. 🥺 Hugs!
Awesome and profound!!!💕♥️♥️
people keep going even when their stress is soaring. I could relate to this
Oh I felt this and can recall such moments. Skilfully done 😍
Wow, Heather, you just tore my heart out with this one. It goes so deep and touches fundamental truths. Well done. I love this poem so much 💕🙂
Your creativity, use of language and depth of emotion in your words never ceases to amaze me. This is excellent work!
You know what that last line says to me? It says that she's winning. Otherwise, the pieces would fall to the floor. Instead, they're still in the air, awaiting her next move.
a very deep and moving piece Heather, a new addition to my "favourite of yours" list! I hope you like rock and roll - https://youtu.be/J9fhUladvAU?si=rLwjk1D8uwxLv1z_
We hear 'can't' so much in a day. You can't do that, you can't go there, you can't take time for yourself, you can't cut people out of your life. I think we start to believe we really can't. And we underestimate the pressure we put on ourselves and others. A very thought provoking piece ❤️
Whenever I see that word anymore, I find myself thinking of "Glee". Yes, we were & continue to be "Gleeks". When they put together that song, "Loser Like Me", for competition I thought it was one of the best things I had heard since "Rent" & "Seasons of Love". And through all this weariness & stress you feel, how much have you gotten right? (I'm guessing all you have to do is look into the other faces in your family to realize that it's a lot.)
Thoughtfully written!
Very deep and haunting; excellent work as always
Heartbreaking and so well done, Heather. The hopeless exhaustion expressed here is very relatable. Thanks for sharing.
Very deep and sad! Well written!
Those first verses are my own thoughts quite often as I gaze into the mirror… deeply resonating…. Powerful poetry Heather 🤍🕊️✨
This line gave me a chuckle-😂 like a tramp stamp of inner shame.