Anne Tibbitts writes

Poem for Toby, who lost a football scholarship and joined the Marines

You feel football in your heart like heavy lead

That keeps you from flying down a field of green and mud

Your cleats grinding up clumps of old grass

Your number racing toward some goal

Get the ball     get the ball

Your mind yells inside yer head BAM yer hit   yer down

A thousand stars ring around your eyes

You lie there unmoving, yer dead, this time you are really dead

You raise up and run toward the other guy BAM down again

This time with the ball tucked

Like an old teddy bear inside your big hug

The crowds cheer but yer deaf and then you race again

Toward someone BAM hit down crunch yer legs feel like clouds

Now yer flying yer head is a symphony of violins

Your eyes see only blue sky and hot summer days

Even though its dark behind your eyes

You feel football in yer heart

And

Everyday now, when you wake up

And yer knees ache and your ankles click

When you walk across the floor

There it is—staring at you, looking right into you—

That jersey with the final game grass stains

It’s hanging on the hook. You go put it on

Drink a cup of coffee yer number 52 again

(Yer gonna be late for work gotta get going)

Racing             hitting              running            slamming

Going down for the hardtackle

Head butting the biggest guy on the other team

(what time is it gotta go to work now)

But then you realize

No—it’s not the other guy

It’s you

Banging your head against the wall

Your head’s ringing

(is it the phone am I late?)

Stars are all around

They’re like that old magic

And your hands hurt when you hit

The ground hard

You feel football in your heart

And you try to smooth glue

Over the broken seams

Where despite your best other efforts

Nothing else can feel—in you—like that