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Summer/Fall 2019



by Sandra Marchetti


Down the first base line,

I saw your body stretched

like an A on the mound,

your right arm a slash

line across it.


A spring training game

in mid-March, you only

threw a few innings, but I

could tell your pitches

were up without replay.


In the crowd I hid among

the retirees. White men

with their white hair

in their white shirts

holding scorecards and I

thought about asking,


What is it like for your team

to leave you, as this team

will leave in a couple

of weeks for a city at work

that no longer stops on weekday

afternoons for baseball?



*Previously published in Louisiana Literature.



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