Driving north on Route 2A
from Vermont to Maine
listening to the news:
–the New England Patriots coach was caught
trying to videotape the handsignals of the New York Jets–

I remember how we six sisters
would recruit a few boys from the neighborhood
for a pick-up game of touch football in the street,
how we’d break into teams,
huddle around whoever was chosen to be quarterback,
how the quarterback would extend her left palm, flat,
into the middle of the huddle,
plant the index finger of her right hand in the center of her palm, and then
with finger motions and whispers,
she would diagram who was to go where and when,
in order to so confuse and fool the other team
that one of us could break free
and go long.

Oh that feeling
of running as fast as I could
extending my arms, my hands, my fingers
as far as I could
watching that spiralling bullet of a football,
reminding myself:

if you can touch it,
you can catch it.
If you can touch it,
you can catch it.

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