Sample Poems by Linda Kittell

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Love Comes Up Through the Minors

Outside a store near Baton
Rouge, I learned to throw and
catch. My father gave me a beginning-a shoddy glove
and ball gone mostly

to string and rubber. From there, we drove
north and east-Connecticut and then
New York. Buffalo
taught me to imagine what was round
and see it soar over the peak of house or barn, into

the alley's weeds. A seed, I went east
or south, north then west
wherever my heart and later
the leather-skinned hands

of old scouts pointed:

          Montana and Idaho
lost in the gapping yawn of wheat and hay
fields, each day another goodbye. Did you know me

then? Did you see the long rope of ball miss and
miss again the center target
of home? Did you see each year begin
and begin again, bring me here where direction

seems certain, where the clean white ball wants
its bright new leather?

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Love's Free Agent Report

Tall and rangy with plenty of room
to fill out. Live arm, throws
with ease. Good coordination
and rhythm. But control
is only fair-hard time
finding the corners
with the fastball. Only threw
two pitches all night, never saw
the slider. Could use
a change of pace. Tends
to overthrow at times. Good move
to first. Quick
off the mound. Though raw, Love
is determined
to get players out, might come in handy
in short relief. Overall rating: 4

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Pitchers and Catchers Report

In English, these
are the four most
beautiful words, days
like a curtain going up
on your whole life. The locker room-
bleach, floor wax and fresh paint, the snap
and slap of towels, it's all there again.
And Love's there too, this time, the first
time, looking around, sizing up
the others, trying hard to act
nonchalant while
the old timers keep
glancing out at the Annies
already lining up, already
poking their pens
through the backstop.

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Love's Own Baseball Card

The posing, Love remembered-
staring down the camera with
a menacing look. And Love remembered
thinking perfect games
were possible and the strike zone
would always be
wide as a summer sky.
Love remembered when packs
were only a quarter, the feel of
fresh cardboard in the palm, the smell
of bubblegum and even licking
the sugar dust
that coated the wax wrapper.

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Love Starts On Opening Day

It seemed like Love was always
card number six-fifty-nine in a Topps set
of six-sixty. Did anyone even think
of Love? Then two sore arms, a first
kid on the way and a funeral and suddenly
Love got the nod, first time
since short season A and shit
Love felt like a kid again. Even
Cleveland at the end of March
might feel like Arizona
in August. Love believed-
with the movement lately on the fastball-
it was the pitch to go with.
Give that rookie catcher a brand new glove
and people in the centerfield bleachers
would hear that ball pop.