Morning Thunder’s Opening Day


The first time I heard dawn’s crack of
sky-god bats, it was a long rookie year on the
Kansas plains, the west’s rocky range as an
impenetrable backstop. I woke up from dreams that
my old life had switched pitchers while a thunder-
shy farm dog back east grounded his trembling limbs
in my father’s lap, our dripping insecurities muffled
by the rain’s cheers for line drives on a new roof.

My eastern rules were not yet accustomed to
early steals by prairie storms, preferring to wait
until the baled hay was stacked high on base
inside some barn door’s afternoon yawn, rafters
rising over a stadium’s worth of ballpark food
for winter livestock. At storm’s peak, I still lingered
in the overhang, knowing my mother wanted
me safe at home in her worried dugout.

NaPoWriMo #3

I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. Won’t you join me in poetry?


6 thoughts on “Morning Thunder’s Opening Day

  1. I can’t react to this without sounding gushy. I am awed by your blending of the two images and then making it work as a comment on a life transition. And I love the barn.

    An especially good read in this calm between the storms.


    1. This was a hard one today. I was determined to tell a story, but it’s easier said than done in poetry. And Gary double checked my baseball terminology. I wanted to be sure it fit. Thanks, Maureen.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s