Text
Eyes closed. I feel your mouth
an upturned u; chest, a v
of future scar that spirals back
to years pretended
in closet-locker-rooms—
bat, glove balanced against the wall
where paper phantoms
Eric Karros, Orel Hershiser, Mike Piazza
hung, dripping hot in chiseled
sweat, taut-chested dreams
of a nonboy who loved America
hit round after round and hit
again in checkout lines, headlines
in America where America means
red and blue, only white—nothing
in between, where brutal rules
call an out an out, and land
forced into diamonds
gathers its ghosts
who rise whipping
at the mound. Fastball
to your big-league-god Piazza
he rockets you, a homerun
streak toward freedom—American Promise
burned into his bat.
I run the invisible lines
between your ribs
fingerspell life, liberty
until you still my hand
your lips wide
in shameless
reclamation.
Note: “Bound” first appeared in Cream City Review (University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Department of English, Volume 47, Number 2, Fall & Winter 2023).