Catch in Jerusalem


Football, by Luke Powell


"You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears!"

                                                      Stephen, Acts 7:51


Let's play catch in the vacant lots of Jerusalem,

outside the the walls of the Old City, in some neglected

shade beside the church, where the sun won't get in

our eyes, and the ground's been cleared and scraped

and hasn't been rebuilt yet. Let's play soccer with a stolen

orange, juggling the pilfered fruit between our feet,

our knees, on the crowns of our heads until someone

gets careless, and orange juice. Let's play American

touch football with a dog's lost Frisbee, grooved and split

with toothmarks, in a field of weeds and appliances

where the rocks aren't too big and we can still get

a good run. You be shirts and I'll be skins. Let's play

keepaway. Kick the can. Hopscotch. Dodge ball.

Let's play catch in the vacant lots of Jerusalem with rocks

of varying size. Outside the Lion's Gate, in the open

where we can still get a really good run, barehanded,

batless: the game where you've got all the rocks

and I must turn and lean and shag your first wild pitch.



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