Fourteen

Some things you do excellent well. Lithe as an animal
or avenging angel on the field, the organs in you
gushing energy out to your legs: glory to the thighs
and calves propelling you, feet rocketing the soccer ball —
quick as a nimble little forward, your long lunge rivals
a keeper’s ample reach. This sport favors the in-between
build, the nerd-jock switch. People come from countries, and brown is
an international color. The sunlight paints you dark.
You sprint until lean, until your pores weep salt. Sharp autumn
air stings your nostrils and lungs. You yell at the refs, muscle
opponents aside. Your allies wear your stripes, and you know
the enemy’s name. Deemed most valuable when you go wild
between the lines, in real life, don’t be a bitch, or a beast,
too fast, too strong. Hide the fact that you’re feral all the time.

© Laura Swearingen-Steadwell