Childhood Baseball

Childhood Baseball

By John L. Skarl

The baseball signed by the 1954 Cleveland Indians

The baseball my father pitched in High School

The baseball no one was able to hit

The baseball I couldn’t hit

The baseball that hit me

The baseball dad spray-painted orange

Learning baseball

The baseball that stung my hand

The baseball I tried to hit over the fence for Dad

The baseball I hit over the fence for no one

The baseball I fouled off

The baseball that broke the window

Baseballs my dog fielded better than me

The baseball flew crooked

The baseball that landed on my coach’s foot

The baseball I still couldn’t hit

The baseball I caught in right field

The baseball that soared over my head

The baseball that cried in public

Baseball shaped cupcakes

Baseball that died in a house fire

Baseball they buried in uniform

The baseball broke open

The baseball unwound

The signed baseball

The baseball that moved away

The baseball I don’t watch enough of

Baseball on the radio

The baseball my dog ran off with

The baseball I only call on Sundays

Strike-Three-Ball

The baseball I traded for a basketball

The baseball left forgotten on a roof

John L. Skarl earned an MFA in fiction writing from the NEO MFA consortium in 2009, where he was recognized as a Coulter emerging poet and writer, and won the Marian Smith Short Story Award with “Midnight Service.” He recently placed fiction with Empty Sink Publishing, and Driftwood Press – where he served as a seasonal editor. 

William Scherbarth is six years old and lives in Birmingham, Michigan. He has two dogs, a sister, a dad, and a mom. In his free time, he likes playing with trains and painting. He was inspired by the fireworks in The Falling Rocket painting by James Abbott McNeill Whistler. He imagined this as a home run ball on Opening Day.