Sand

by Holly Day

close your eyes and
concentrate. swing with your arms and
not with your hands. imagine the ball without actually seeing it.
hit the ball only

when you know it’s actually
there. why would these words follow me all the way
out here, so far from any green field or
first base, in the desert in a tank with only
the sounds of frightened panic, chaos
in my ears? why would the voice of a coach
I had only in second
grade be in my head now, repeating the same old shit
against a backdrop of bombs and fire and death?

keep your eyes closed and don’t think about
anything else. follow the orders
in your head. If we get out of
this alive, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone. don’t
think, just
move. keep moving.