Waiting

She approached the plate with a look of determination.
Her gloved right hand twirled the bat
As she set first one cleat and then the other,
Scuffing small ruts into the soil to improve her footing.
Then lifting the bat into position above her left shoulder,
Both hands clutching, elbows high, she waited for the pitch.
A glance at the coach—right hand on his thigh….
A fire burned within her as desire to swing the bat swelled
Into a flood of adrenaline and blood.

Like a flash of light the ball came,
Then a flash of judgment, then thump!
As she let it fly past and into the catcher’s glove.
“Ball one.”
“Good eye.”

She stepped away, twirled the bat again,
Then returned to the plate.
Again the ball left the pitcher’s hand.
Again she eyed it all the way.
Again she let the catcher take it.
Thump!
“Ball two.”
“Good eye.”

Stepping away, she repeated her habit of twirling,
Then approaching the plate and setting her feet.
Another pitch.
Thump!
“Ball three.”
“Good eye!”

This time she backpedaled further,
Releasing tension with a mighty swing.
Then up to the plate.
Another glance at the coach.
His left hand clasped around his right wrist. She knew the sign.
The fourth pitch left the mound and came straight down the line.
She knew she had this one—but the coach had given the sign…
Thump!
“Strike one!”
“Now you’re ready.”

Stepping back, she shook the tension out of her legs and arms,
Then after another empty swing,
Returned to the plate and eyed the coach.
Hand on the bill of his cap. Got it.
Salty beads stood on her forehead. Other salt soaked into her batting glove.
Her heart pounded in her ears, but she hardly noticed.
Eyes on the white sphere.
The wind-up and release sent it hurling towards her.
Outside and low, but just barely—and just the way she liked it.
Woosh! The bat whipped through the air.
Crack!
Suddenly the ball changed course and flew past first base,
Dropping just inside the line, in an empty pocket in right field.
Releasing her grip on the bat, she flew toward first,
Rounded the base and kept going.
Then from second to third, where the coach stood yelling,
“Take it! Take it!”
One more turn, and then
“Home run!”

The season has ended, and a new one begun.
The white sphere has been set aside,
For now her life revolves around a man.
Passions rise, and her heart pounds in her ears, but she hardly notices.
Eyes on her beloved, she is focused and waiting
To send him soaring with her love.
Together they watch for the Father to give the sign that says,
“Now you’re ready.”
And when that moment comes,
She will not hesitate
To hit another home run.

 

Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

 

 

Free to Fly

long-tailed-skipper

My soft new wings long for their chance to fly!
When taking to the air, to sunlight yield,
I’ll soar and flit upon the airy breast,
Discover joys now yet a mystery.
But patiently I’ll sit and bide my time,
Await the dawning of the perfect day.

Another chrysalis was loosed today.
He too is waiting for his chance to fly.
Coincidence, emerging at this time?
My heart begins to flutter. Should I yield
To dark emotions yet a mystery?
For now, I’ll tuck them safely in my breast.

I tried to hide them deep within my breast,
But he discovered me—oh, happy day!
Now how can I preserve my mystery?
If only my poor wings were fit to fly,
Then keeping silent, I would never yield;
My secret would be sacred for all time.

His thoughts of me apparent grow in time,
As slowly down the branch he comes abreast.
And I to his enchantments slowly yield,
Forgetting all the hours of the day.
Our iridescent wings now fit to fly,
He beckons to a place of mystery.

This gilded wonder, still a mystery,
Has been my sweet companion for a time.
In dark of night he taught me how to fly;
When I was hurt, he took me to his breast
Then held me tenderly ‘til night was day,
And taught me my imprisoned thoughts to yield.

Yet by and by my heart began to yield
To yearnings cloaked by prudent mystery.
Our love must patient be for one more day,
For we shall come together in due time,
And he will take his rest upon my breast
When in the sunlight we at last may fly.

Yield not to passion’s fire before the time.
The mystery hold fast within your breast
Until the day when love is free to fly.

Orange butterfly (6) icarus

Continue reading “Free to Fly”

Lone Embers Glow Again

Lone
Embers
Glow again
When breathed upon.
Her fire, extinguished,
Had nearly snuffed his out too—
A dead man walking—until
An angel came with heaven’s breath,
Stirred gray coals once more to red hot flame.
Lone embers glow again when breathed upon.

 

Written as the sequel to “The Fire Went Out”
Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

Scansion:
Dectina Refrain
Syllabic pattern: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10
Lines 1-4 are repeated as Line 10.

 

 

The Chair

One day you confided to me
That if you ever married again,
The first thing you would do after the wedding
Is take your bride to the back room in the church
Find a chair and sit down
Then bend her over your knee
And show her who was boss, right from the start
As a strong-willed woman who longs to be led by an even stronger man
This made me wild with anticipation—

But a lump came in my throat
The day I walked in the back room and saw The Chair
That suddenly appeared from who knows where—
For weeks you threatened to take me there
I misbehaved on purpose
Daring to call your bluff
And it worked…

 

Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

Hallowed Reunion

Eagerly he came to her as soon as she arrived.
A knock.
An open door.
And two pairs of longing eyes at once grew misty.
The warmth in their long embrace
Erased both winter winds and
The months and miles of separation.

Arm in arm they sat
And talked freely of their past, present,
And future….
When words were spent,
Four wandering hands turned up the heat—
But only so far.
Such passion never met with such restraint!
For the time had not yet come to let the fire burn hot.
Their friendship still needs time to grow
Apart from passion’s glow.
Would anyone believe the scene,
If perchance they could have seen
These two dear friends so much in love
Yet willing to defer their pleasure
To please their loving Father?

“Some things are more important than the moment we are living in.”
Life has taught these unwed soul mates
How to love
And how to wait….
Waiting is the hallmark of their friendship.

“There is a fire.
Let’s be careful not to let it burn too bright.”
With one more hug he quickly said good night.

 
Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

Also shared at dVerse Poet’s Pub ~ Open Link Night