Sunday Poem

THE CATCH

Tonight I drive to the ballgame, the first

of the season here. The night grass shines

in the lights, and the white church far beyond

right field glows against the early summer

sky. I can't keep score of how many times

I've thought it would be good to see a game,

then go get married in that church. And now

I wonder if you've phoned and wondered why

I wasn't there and where I was. I am

here, love, way out west, waiting the weeks

away, my life between innings, between

games of a day-night double-header.

I feel like a high fly in magic flight

momentarily lost in the lights

before I return to earth, caught

in this field of dreams and your soft hands.

From Wrestling with Angels: New and Selected Poems (1995) by Doug Beardsley