It's not the euphoria of winning
(though, it is nice to win)
or some sense of nostalgia.
It's the thwack of the ball against the leather of my dad's glove;
the singing of a wood bat against a perfect pitch.
It's carrying equipment,
sunscreen slathered shoulders bumping together
across the burning asphalt parking lot.
It's shouting "BASEBALL!" when someone makes a sick play
and jumping the fence when the field is closed.
It's trying every position, even pitcher,
embracing failure as part of the learning.
It's orange slices distributed like an offering
to say,
I love you. Eat this.
It's crying together to be playing on our field of dreams;
loving my team with a love that feels
TOO BIG
sometimes.
It's belonging without wondering if I deserve it;
community without conditions.
It's The Fruits—
having this,
all of this...
us.
Forever.
- Alexandra Helms, Infielder (mostly)
