And yes, baseball is poetry, too. I'd like to introduce you to poet Elizabeth Healy, who has granted permission for me to use her poem here. Liz is, among other things, a caregiver and one of a large family of die-hard baseball fans. Here's how she would like to experience the game:
WITH MY EYES CLOSED
by Elizabeth Healy
I want to use my other senses first
Hear the vendors calling us to slake our thirst
and the home plate umpire being roundly cursed
I want to smell the grass as sweet as heather
The sweat of fans enjoying the hot weather
and the intoxicating scent of an old mitt's leather
I want to taste ballpark fare and sup
on hotdogs slathered in mustard and ketchup
and drink a cold beverage from a paper cup
I want to feel the crunch of peanut shells beneath my feet,
to squeeze myself into the plastic seat
and enjoy the too short season of sizzling summer heat
I want to see the sky a periwinkle blue
the shamrock green outfield grass--such a peaceful hue
and the white of home a place for every heart that's true
I want to embrace the game with all my senses
to leave behind all worries and pretenses
in the magic place that's found between the fences.
Thanks, Liz! This and other poems are found in Liz's book and so he calls, available here.
Take us out to the ball game, and remember to comment on the previous post for a chance to win one of Janet Wong and Sylvia Vardell's books!