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Joseph Green

The Catch

Under a high fly ball to right

A boy runs in, calling I got it,

Then changes his mind and backpedals.

No place anywhere is lonelier than right field now.

 

Half the parents in the bleachers pray for him

To get this one; the other half give thanks

For what happens: the ball squirts up from the web

Of his glove, a trout leaping out of waterís grip.

 

And in the suspended moment before it falls

Back into gravityís lap, it hangs over the boy

Like an insult, so hard and spherical that he canít hear

What everyone around him is shouting.

 

-First appeared in Willow Springs publication

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