larger view

I put together a collection of poetry for the recent VFair (a part of the international event, VDay which included a fundraising production for Vagina Monologues at the Empty Space) and being the sort of… well, rebel that I am… chose the theme “Celebrating Men.”  This was the first poem I read because it was one of the few that wasn’t inspired by a particular man and was generic.

I don’t even remember writing it.

I read it again last night at the Russo’s Poetry Group, which was, at that point, predominantly men, and they enjoyed it (or pretended to enjoy it.)  As we discussed it, I found myself really appreciating all these qualities of that favorite position on the baseball diamond... the Catcher.

Memories of all my favorite catcher's wafted through my mind. Steve Yeager was there, Mike Scioscia popped in, and then there is the ever well known Kris Yoder. He was on the Jersey City Indians, a AA team I followed when I was 15 year old and lived in Glen Ridge, NJ.  It took everything I had to stay focused on the other people sharing their poetry for a while after all that sharing and parade of Catchers in my mind.

So – when is it that Spring Training starts? Or did it already and I missed it?

Catcher’s Mitt

I wonder if in my muddled mind

The metaphor somehow slid through

Catchers. In baseball.

Always enthralled me.

I thought it was their burly beefy bodies but

Now, I wonder. I pause. I consider was it….

That I trusted they would unflinchingly catch

Whatever I threw at them?

Catchers. Waiting, behind the plate.

Signalling. Shaking off. Nodding.

Watching.

Always enthralled me.