Some days I wish I were
the web of my daughter’s
first baseman’s glove, the snap
of a yellow softball
loud in my ears, leather
arms hugged tight around it,
muffling the rabid crowd
when I squeeze it safely,
the cloud of dust blinking
into my eyes, not hers,
as the weight of the score
we keep within ourselves
carries us together
toward the bag, holding
us steady, one leg stretched,
pinned against the cushioned
rubber, while the runner
barrels down the line, foot
just shy of the mark, no
space between us this day,
only the umpire’s sharp
call to break us apart.
–
Robert Fillman is the author of The Melting Point (Broadstone Books, 2025), House Bird (Terrapin Books, 2022), and the chapbook November Weather Spell (Main Street Rag, 2019). An assistant professor of English at Kutztown University, he also serves as poetry editor at Pennsylvania English.