From the Outfield, by Leah Brundige

I want to bench press you
above my head
I want to slam you
into a book I don’t understand
pressing, topped by
dictionaries and vases
until you become paper thin

I want to hang onto something
I shouldn’t

I want to dry the stems and leaves
extending from your body,
prickly
I want to detract from the richness of hues
in your head,
bowing
so I can keep you on my mantel
in a glass jar
as a memento,
conquered
of an afternoon game spent
in the outfield
picking wild flowers
while my parents screamed
“Keep your eye on the ball!
It’s coming!”

Leah Brundige lives and writes in New England.

© 2016, Leah Brundige