From Muddy River Poetry Review
Katherine Szpekman - Late for Basketball Practice
line breaks lost!
Katherine Szpekman Late for Basketball Practice There you stand on the driveway in your white socks, holding your sneakers looking at me like you don’t know who I am or why I am shouting to you hurry up my boy, now almost a man. I watch you put it together like Lego blocks – grab water bottle, get shoes on, get in car, and I remember the smell of your downy head, the tingle and swell of milk as we rode the waves, in the green rocking chair, held in a warm ocean of darkness. You hop in, on long legs of muscle and fur, slam the door a little too hard, as always. This time, I don’t correct. You caress the orange globe in your lap, fingertips read its pebbled surface, palms slide over black lines of longitude. Your scent is salty and mossy, like seaweed and wet leaves in fall. You have joined a new tribe. Sweat beads on your forehead, whiskers have sprouted on your face, and your jaw sits sculpted and determined. We drive in silence, like passengers on a bus getting off at different stops. The day’s last brush strokes sweep pink and scarlet, orange and gold. Twilight is but moments away