Soccer Meditation

June-morning dew drops balance at the tip-tops of lush grass blades

after a Spring rain storm.

Slippery ball splattered with mud is

soon rolling and splashing through puddles as deep as

Moats in front of the goal

Our battlefields.

Cracked ground of hard-packed dirt flats

sun beating brutally down, draining our skin

as a defender’s perspiration smears across my summer-darkened arm,

cleats tearing up grass like a sprinting bulldozer,

and I’m gone, sliding past like a fast-footed thief.

Fall air crisp as an apple, bringing chilly hints of winter

At early Saturday morning games.

Parents and fans huddle under old sweatshirts and

Blankets, sipping coffee and cocoa, fingers wrapped

In gloves around mugs.

Late afternoon high-school team practice, sun shining

Like Indian summer, soaking up fresh air that barely belongs to us

Escape from stuffy halls, lined paper, plaid and pleated skirts.

Stretching out while the boys team scrimmages, giggle

And wave at the midfield stud while I show off my splits…

Soon I’m running hard, running drills and laps like a sprinter from Kenya…

Away from demons or towards a finish line?

Depends on the day, season, time, temperature,

atmospheric pressure in my head.

Every afternoon, I love those long socks slipping up smooth, toned calves,

Love those worn-out cleats that hug my running feet,

Travel every step with me.

But tonight, rain is dripping and rippling like tears

Smeared down the grimy bus windowpane

We’ve been beaten.

Replaying last moments of a crucial game underneath

Weary eyelids

When we play so hard though it won’t matter,

Our minutes are up.

So I imagine fading fall sunlight from weeks before,

someone is still shooting, still on that

Home field.

And the lights come on, to Illuminate the night

Neon green grass blades pricking at electrified feet.

Play on, and on, and on.