-->Back to Current Issue
By Pamela Yenser
Blame me. Blame history.
Or blame yourself if life lies
foul and love's a mystery
(foul play!) we half realize
through our fingers in the dark
like those leather-hard, hand-sewn
balls of flesh which symbolize
your sex. To each his own.
Now give me your handand glove.
Let me show you a softer mound,
greener fields empty with love,
a lighter stick to swing around.
You started this game in the first place,
bragging how you'd gotten to first base.
PAMELA YENSER enjoys watching her husband follow the Red Sox. She is currently an MFA student at the University of Idaho and has published poems not about baseball in Ascent, Kansas Quarterly, Midwest Quarterly, Massachusetts Review, Poetry Northwest, and Shenandoah.
© 2001 Pamela Yenser
BACK TO TOP
Batter's Box Bring Us Home
On the Newsstand Sample
Submit a story Tell a Friend Advertise with us Our First at bat Privacy Statement
© 1999 - 2006 Elysian Fields Quarterly Web Master Dahlke Designs