My last chance, One more miss And it’s over, Cool sweat trickles down my neck. I risk striking out, My pride. My hands tremble My swing wobbles My body Not my own, I can’t do this. To everyone else, A spring day, Warm and beautiful. Dandelions cover the field, The opposite of my emotions. I worry, I fear. The day is too sunny, I doubt. I hear the sound, Loud and clear. A glimmer of hope sparks inside of me, A candle in a dark room. The ball is gone. It flies with the birds. The ball touches down A mile away, Out of sight. The candle turns into a torch, A thousand torches, The game is mine. I’m at the top of the world. “Keep this moment forever.” A feeling comes to me, Sweeter than any peach or pie, Victory. Marshall McKenna, 12Lexington, Massachusetts
Poetry-Sports
Goes the Ball
You know the sound— the clang as the ball bounces off the rust-colored hoop. The backboard, faded with use, trembles. You feel it vibrate. On the rebound, you throw again. In your mind, the ball soars through the hoop; a satisfying swish. Instead, the ball ricochets, landing in the mud; it splatters. When you pick it up, the ball is caked with mud. You sigh, and turn to head back. In the distance, there is a rumble of thunder And yet… the muddy ball flies, flecks of dirt trailing in its wake. You watch as the ball’s path forms a perfect arc; your heart leaps. Once again, you think of the ball soaring through the air, and passing through the hoop. This time, you hear it swish. Richard Ma, 12Kirksville, Missouri
Lane Seven
Legs, they’re trembling with nervous excitement. Muffled voices pulse through your head. You’re moving now Perched Tense at the edge. You grip the lip of the block. Your body shakes with the sound of the start, But You’re already gone. You slip into the water Like it’s meant to be. It is. The rush pulls you. Through the water you speed. Your body taking control Arms, legs, core Gliding in perfect precision. You snort something into your airway. Gasping for air You leave the perfect world for a flash Of a second. Halfway to the T Marble Seven in view. Can you make it? One last breath And you completely submerge. Spinning through the bubbles A hair away from the wall. You kick. Hard pressure starts at your feet It spreads, Rocketing your body backwards. A few seconds left. You’re still on fire, but it’s fading. Your speed is no longer faster Than your heartbeat. You kick it in the last few yards Knowing The end is near. You slam both hands on the wall Smiling, screaming, laughing, You pump your fists in the air As you watch The other swimmers finish After you. Keslee Peterson, 13Mountain Home, Idaho
