Out of our league

by Sally Jo Sorensen

Never mind the kid was freckle- faced         or batted left
beneath close-cropped hair color         of a barn swallow's belly
turning mid-flight in  our mid-June          Midwest prairie air       
never mind the fancy school out East       or syllables  he creased
each time he spoke            or how he slouched a little  more
each time you saw him      walking by the river
with our town's old hag          who'd lately  trimmed her hair.

Don't tell me    you didn't know   
each time you read    his bat describe
a baseball  to the sky   you didn't know
how far   he'd be out of here.

 

Comments

[Heather Miller]

OMG, Sally Jo. What a triumph this poem is! I love the subtle rhymes and echoes, the gentle but determined rhythms, and the amazing way you've compressed a world into a few sentences. And aimed so well straight into the reader, you you you. I came away knowing things I couldn't even express about this boy, this place, and myself. Minnesota power, that's what. Thank you for every syllable of this poem. I will return to it many times today, tomorrow, always.

[Susan Allen]

Jesus. Wow. What a poem.

[Kathryn Gessner]

I followed every breath of this poem and its insistent narrative, delicious and mysterious.

[Yara Delinquent]

wow

[Chris Boese]

Sally Jo, I am late finding things as usual, but wow, this is truly dazzling.

And there's a line in here, uh, well, to quote a line I once learned from Heather, that I'd kill someone dear to me for... so I must quote it:

you didn't know
each time you read his bat describe
a baseball to the sky you didn't know
how far he'd be out of here.

Bat describe a baseball to the sky? Wow, how'd you think of that. Neato!