In My Ohio

On 9-Words Preparation

Darren C. Demaree
Once again this season (my third) I will be writing a nine-word poem for every game the Cleveland Indians play, and with great hope that I will be writing more than one hundred and sixty-two of them, I felt some training might be necessary to ready my sporting spirit for the rigors of such a march. The baseball season is long, dauntingly so, and to provide a full mural of such a thing, you must be poetically hearty. Witness the calisthenics of my preparation…

One word on Carlos Santana collects five hits in one game…


Two words on John Axford’s first blown save…

Porcelin lip

Three words on Justin Masterson’s first shutout…

Bearded crossing bell

Four words on Asdrubal Cabrera’s first homerun of the season…

& quieted

Five words on Ryan Raburn’s hamstring rupture…

Sometimes the lemon
gets peeled

Six words on Jason Giambi starting the year 0-16 from the plate…

More winter
than human form,

Seven words on Terry Francona removing Danny Salazar with a no-hitter in the eighth inning…

large barks
of fear,

a lily?

Eight words on Cory Kluber’s all-star caliber first month…

Drenched in the luxury
of first blessing stolen

Nine words on the first time I give up on the team, right before they bring me back in…

If empty
the leather
of the suitcase
doesn’t matter

I’m still not ready for this season to start, but then again I don’t have to be ready yet. I know the ball club isn’t ready yet either. They’re still in Arizona. I am in Ohio, eagerly awaiting their return, waiting for one more summer spent shoulder-deep in poetry, heart-deep in baseball.