Imagination of a mound that is not mine.
Diamonds that blur my inherited vision
Tunneled,
The sun blinds me, burns me,
in my division.
Cleats that I can slide out of.
A fastball, a curveball, a changeup,
Plummeting towards me.
I cannot run, sprint
Or even walk.
My breath shrivels into silence.
My phantom rests on the bleachers–
A being so small yet infinite.
Judging and watching,
Living through the vessels of his blood.
The thought of home base is present,
I feel it coursing through my body,
But the filtration through my lungs resists.
My bat is steady,
But I cannot hold the weight.
I can feel the thunder of my reminiscence.
Sweat coats my hand–
No,
My father’s hand.