Baseball Poem

Yankees

             by Anne Marie Macari

For beauty, the men came toward us across the field,

and when they stood trance-still, or when they backed

hard against the wall, it seemed part of some

greater design, or when one swung, twisting

his torso and bending his knees at the same time

as the ball flew and the crowd erupted,

I was in thrall to all of them, because they held back

Then hit for their lives, because one gently lifted

his arm to meet the ball as if his own child

were falling toward him through thin air.

I even laughed at the men throwing beer

which drizzled onto my hair, and the one

yelling obscenities at the other team.

The blinding lights helped me see

their perfection, and I became a devotee-

not just for the sake of my sons, my arms around them-

though it was strange to be a women then,

to love them that much, the arena

filled me with men who were ready and had chosen

their weapons, so when the ball disappeared

for the last time all of us screamed

and rose from our seats so grateful

for our own violence which got us

this far without torture or mutilation,

and to one team brought to their knees,

and to the heroes, small in distance,

holding each other, rejoicing.