Poem/a/Day: Swing Away by Angela Vasquez-Giroux

SWING AWAY

This pitch is high, but I don’t like called third strikes. This pitch is high, but it will carry. This pitch is high and I know I need to swing

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          I will wait on it because I can wait anything out if I think I will win
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and I think of Jim Leyland saying the sound of the ball coming off the bat of a great hitter is distinct and pure

          I imagine like middle C on the piano
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and I think of Mike Piazza saying broken bats are the most beautiful music he’s known
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and I think the third baseman is tall and lean like gospel Johnny Cash

and I think of the sweet spot and Sweet Lou and how the porta-johns on the Little League diamonds always smelled
like giant Sweet Tarts

and I think of my friend who told me
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and I think of Bobby Higginson and wish I had a great beard or a mouthful of Big League Chew or Alice in Chains playing when I walked into the batter’s box and dug in alongside home plate
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and I think I still have to wait
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and I think they’re playing me shallow and I think I will burn them each in their red jerseys
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and I think I hear the left fielder say she’s gonna swing but I’m not hearing it right

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          I’m singing and I’m rounding first
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and I’m singing and I’m standing on second with my hands on my hips and dirt across my cleats and
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               the only thing I can remember is the sound

                    of a tolling church bell and relief and Swing Low Sweet Chariot.

Poem by Angela Vasquez-Giroux.