We stand in the gloom of April:
pearls of ice, strands of snow, 
entire necklaces dipped in heaven’s 

scorn. It singes when you swing 
the bat, our feet soaked by the yellow 
straw-like spongy grass. You’re ahead 

of me, not behind.  The moist spring 
air smells of dirt, the dust-colored 
sky edged with darkening blue. 

It’s chilling, but not winter, the ground 
solid but wet, the forest distant, your 
breath, close by. You have no words. 

I memorize your body’s position, 
the placement of your hands, your 
thoughts swept away like rainwater. 

There is no one else in this picture. 
You’re alone, waiting for the ball.

KATHRYN KYSAR is the author of two books of poetry, Dark Lake and Pretend the World, and she edited the anthology Riding Shotgun: Women Write About Their Mothers. She is the founder of the creative writing program at Anoka-Ramsey Community College. She performs with the Sonoglyph Collective and resides with her non-sporty family in Saint Paul, Minnesota.