The Kid followed in the footsteps of his father, who taught him how to play the game. Ken Sr. instructed Junior on the three parts of baseball; defense, hitting, and base running — defense being first. Junior listened to his father, a long time Cincinnati Red, and himself became a pro player at age 17. It wasn’t long before everyone in baseball knew, The Kid could play ball.
Ken Griffey Jr. made his MLB debut with the Seattle Mariners in April 1989. In his first home field at-bat, Griffey swung and barreled a ball over the left field wall. His home-town home run was one of hundreds more to come. Griffey hit 417 home runs in front of Seattle crowds during his career as a Mariner.
Although his powerful swing was mighty enough to build a career on, Junior. was taught that defense came first. The centerfielder played the game with reckless abandon, and challenged the dynamics of baseball physics on more than one occasion. Junior routinely left the earth, and sacrificed his body to take away extra base hits. He ran up walls and crashed into them. He even brought one down in Baltimore. Once, during his sophomore season, the Mariners traveled to Yankees Stadium, where Junior robbed slugger Jesse Barfield of his 200th career home run. He jumped over the warning track and, in the same stride, leapt half way up the wall. He extended his glove and snared the bleacher bound ball, then pulled it back into the field of play for the final out of the inning. It was by all accounts, a spectacular play, and one of many defensive highlights Junior would create.
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There is a thread that runs through the thumb and each of the four fingers; it holds them all in place. The thread binds all five digits to a checker patterned web. If I were to slip my hand inside, I’d find a place where only my left hand, fits just so. My squeezed fist would invoke a strangling grip around any fly ball; to be swallowed by the web that spans forefinger to thumb. Inside that checkered web is like a massive black hole, where poorly struck orbs fall and disappear. I can catch anything when this leather fits my hand. I feel faster and more agile. Enhanced by some insanity to dive after a falling line drive; convinced the vacuum of my personal black hole will somehow spare me bodily harm. This protection I need, vital for playing the game, rests on my left hand, and would be nothing without that thread.
Standing in an underground
railway station
built alongside a highway
in the middle of summer
slippy-hot
that falls on you like
a damp blanket
your mother had been
heating in the over
on the lowest
setting to lie over
you when you were
sick
the cars themselves are
no better
the air conditioning
roaring helplessly
against the heat
a tired old man
begging for mercy
his button-down shirt
open to his flabby
man-breasts drenched
in sweat
i fall in love with
colorado in weather like
this
the lovers’ spat
of the little miseries
of winter forgotten
behind us
palmer shouts in my earphones
about relationships and
insanity
and how can
i enjoy this music
when i have never had
my heart broken
i have never had
a heart to break
for one
never opened up
enough to find out
what heartache feels like
for other people
only inchoate longing
for people i cannot
know and never touch
the bright star and
the dubliner both
died virgins
didn’t they
“who needs love when
there’s law and order”
a sheen of sweat
but no discomfort
the sun has set finally
i think about a girl
i used to know
and wonder where
she is and if she
ever thinks of
me.
Creation, curved like an egg, opens with
gilded golden wings. They call you
Khepera.
You move close to the earth, eat bits
of old. An amulet allowing ascension
adorning the deceased with spells
written on cool stone: prayers balanced
against a feather. You push the sun across
the sky and motion the moon to do the same.
Your image, carved
on earthen walls, watches my wrapped body
lowered into the sand. There I dissolve
into the womb of your child
and am reborn.
Delving deep
into iron-red rock,
the swell of San Rafael,
Bodies become
canyon,
pebbles,
sand,
dust.
Whispers:
primordial language
of water.
Juniper and sage
spice thin air.
Scent and sound
discordant
coexistence
with a harsh,
gracefully broken land.
Persistent sunlight
grazes a shear
rock face,
ghosts twist
between crevices
and emerge
as ancient art
carved
onto ancient walls.
We open our palms,
touch cool red rock,
delicate skin
exposed and painted
with muddy earth,
blending with sandstone,
and it is sudden,
the understanding of
vulnerability.
Pt. 1: “Nameless”
Pt. 2: “Nightmares”
Pt. 3: “Respite”
Pt. 4: “Illusion”
Approximately thirty seconds after climbing into the Mercedes, Laine’s brain caught up with her. Jon Gold was not a person she knew in any but the broadest sense of the term. He had no reason she could see for doling out assistance. Especially at his own risk. If not for the initial bewilderment of shots fired in so public a place, she would never have ventured down that corridor with him. Moreover, how and why had he acted with greater speed than her security team? A missing link stood out glaringly among the facts of the action, and she had a strong feeling its name was “Joe.”
It all came down to money, assuming she had the right of it. What she had overheard hinted strongly at a criminal exchange of dollars for services rendered that resulted in more dollars for both involved parties. It could not have anything to do with standard donations to the charity; otherwise, why would the man have acted so concerned about retaining anonymity? Most of the high-roller brand wanted recognition for contributing serious amounts of cash to worthy causes. And if the charity was so strapped for funds, why hadn’t she heard anything about it before? Most condemning of all, however, was Joe’s mention of “return payments.” That factoid erased all contrived guiltlessness of the conversation’s contents. And one well-framed question could lend confirmation. Continue Reading »
His leg right twitched and sent a jolt through his upper body that exited out his left shoulder. Dmitry gasped to life seated against the smooth and solid surface of his wooden office door, his legs outstretched to V below his leaning torso. Groggy, he flickered and briefly scanned the broken room. Dima recognized everything enough to know his office, but other than the desk, which was still in it’s proper place, everything else was toppled; including two identical yellow plastic chairs that once lined a side of his black desk. Now, overturned and sideways, useless and divided by his own 46-year old body, their legs pointed upwards like doomed insects fried by the sun. Broken glass and paperwork lined the wall near and around Dmitry’s angled frame, but no memory flared. Dima sat, on the two chair side of three, with the remains of his panoramic view, corner office window, sprayed all over his lethargic legs, and had no idea why.
Dmitry curled one leg and then the other, they cracked to life in response. He pulled himself together, then extended himself to stand. He felt the whir of rising too quickly try and overtake him, but the world lit up from behind his dark desk, as if returning from a total eclipse. Dmitry stood in awe of this phenomenon. His office was missing a wall, not just a window.
Outside, he could hear hysteria setting off into the streets. The waft of burnt rubber and gas, mixed with the stench of mechanical fire, set in through the massive, missing wall. A tower of smoke billowed past the missing fraction of his cube; Dima continued to make his way around his desk.
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Pacific Blue and Wild Blue Yonder
Embrace the hearts of sea and sky.
Seduction and passion
Belong to Sapphire and Lapis Lazuli.
Indigo possesses the soul of jazz,
Before it becomes the darkest hue of Midnight Blue.
Blue Bell and Periwinkle
Are for innocence and flowers,
Turquoise and Royal
Are brave and empowered.
Steel, Cadet and Blizzard Blue may be cold, but have their place.
Foundations that support us in this difficult race.
Cosmic Cobalt is full of wonder,
Navy Blue is for your Mother.
Cornflower is light and free,
But none is more endeared to me,
Than beautiful, independent, sweet, mysterious
Cerulean.
Ch. 1 – Roar
Ch. 2 -Growl
Ch. 3 – Pant
Ch. 4 – Hunt
Ch. 5 – Cry
Ch. 6 – Fever
The white halogens that had not been broken or killed were scattered. As if in hiding, a fear that a mass of their numbers together would bring out the attackers again. Down the hallway they shone like spotlights, tiny squares of tile lit beneath them, the blackness of the school hallway pressed against them ready to spill over the bright edges. David moved carefully, his feet brushing against dirt, metal, sliding on almost dried crimson liquid. Each step gave him away. They knew he was there. They’d smelt him, tasted him on the air. Their eyes saw no darkness, their paws pushed no sound.
David’s hands were moist. His warmth beat against the metal in his hand, building warmer and warmer. Ready to shoot. He turned slowly, peered down side hallways and into open classroom doors, his eyes adjusting to the dark. He walked in a slow spiral, each end of the hallway taking his focus in turn. Clear. Quiet. Dark. Clear. Quiet. Dark. Each turn revealing an empty end.
Thu-bump. Thu-Bump. THU-Bump. THU-BUMP. THU-Bump. Thu-Bump. Thu-bump.
Something ran through the ceiling above him. His gun drawn, he followed it from where he stood, pointing the way to the farthest end of the hall. The end that lead to the gym and locker rooms.
When he lowered his firearm from the ceiling, turning toward where the noise fled, something waited and watched. All fours slightly hunched, David could see the shadow was ready to charge. Its eyes glowed, the only distinguishing feature of the dark creature’s head in the unlit end of the hallway. It stared at him. Continue Reading »
