Poetry by Terry Trowbridge
By Terry Trowbridge
A baseball pitcher begins his ritual
of looking at first base, then down,
then third base, then first again.
No stealing.
His left hand is concealed in his glove.
He looks at home plate. He shakes. He nods.
His fingers begin to turn the object in his glove
counter-clockwise. A fast unscrewing.
The crowd, seeing the motion, begins a sound
of simultaneous roaring recognition of art performed live.
The pitcher’s elbow begins to bow while
his shoulder and knees reconfigure
the velociously catapulting kinesis
which will be completed
before the crowd finishes their wordless syllable.
The Wave began outside his peripheral vision,
and makes an arc into his awareness
and his motions will be finished before it reaches his twelve.
His fingers, meanwhile, have clutched an object
he knows is his final professional statement.
The pitcher’s final throw will be historic,
a footnote in projectile physics lectures,
a legendary example of rule-breaking,
aerospace will never be the same,
a punctuation mark to his career.
His arm extended, the object is first a blur
of uneven ridges with superior grip.
The Third Base umpire makes a hand sign on instinct
before he knows what he sees. Nobody will notice it.
Green flashes between knuckles.
A stem points to center field.
A new species is introduced to a traditional game.
An artichoke starts to cross home plate
and is struck by ash wood
and explodes into a supernova of feathery greenwood and juice,
staining the batter and the catcher,
a indelible declaration of irrevocable rebellion.
- Canadian fruit farmer Terry Trowbridge’s poetry has recently appeared
in The Font, Blood + Honey, Balestra, Scarlet Heir, Plorkology, Adelaide Literary, M58, Stone of Madness, Pato Journal, Spinozablue, MiniMAG, Five Fleas, and more.
He is grateful to the Ontario Arts Council for writing grants during the
polycrisis.