THE SONG OF THE RACQUET
The toss.
The ball floats gently up into the sky.
The body coiling into the image of stored energy.
The ball reaches its apex and starts to descend.
The body flexes into its forward and upward motion uncoiling and
transferring power from the feet to the legs, onward to the hips,
up into the torso out the shoulders and into the arm.
The hand gripping the racquet whips the racquet up and forward.
The racquet strikes the ball with a command. Fly!
The racquet continues on reaching forward and then arcing downward.
The body commands the racquet to rest.
The racquet struggles. No! I wish to fly as the ball, my place is
in the sky!
The struggle is brief. But unlike all of the other struggles that
the racquet has fought to be free, this battle it wins!
The racquet in perfect flight continues its journey away from
the body.
The racquet sings. I'm free! Free to fly. Free to dance in the sky!
The earth ignorant of the racquet's song, meets the racquet's flight
with stoney silence.
The racquet screams one last piercing discord before it too joins
the earth in silence.
The racquet will sing no more.
*Sob, sniff*
by Steven Bryant
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