BASEBALL

The smell of cut grass,
On a sunny spring morning.
A ball,
The dirt,
Cleats on pavement,
You stick your nose in your glove,
Leather, oil, sweat.
These things,
That link back to so many other things,
Memories where,
Nothing else was happening,
But waiting.
Opportunities.
For your chance,
In the dugout,
On deck,
In the batter’s box,
In the outfield,
Behind the plate,
Squat low,
Exhale,
Wait.
Dream.
Hope.
Breathe.