The Meaning of Life According to a Groundskeeper

The Meaning of Life According to a Groundskeeper

By Ethan Altshul

In the newly-white dirt he finds himself
a player, or as close to a player as his body
will allow him. The grass, as he mows it,
 
is marred by inconsistency—some sod
risen above sod. What does that
feel like? It doesn’t matter. He cuts
 
it down. What does that feel like? Doesn’t
matter, it’s all even now for the kids, well
really the players, to enjoy it, to orbit
 
like great bodies of celestial gas, ready
for Jupiter at third pulling the boos and cheers
into its ellipse. Ready for the crack
 
of the seam-woven solar flare to draw
it away over the fresh foul lines. He’s sure
that’d make some grass taller. Really,
 
what does that feel like? Still doesn’t
matter. Just matter for antimatter. Just
some raked vacuum in the Milky Way.
 
At least, that’s what a Groundskeeper says.

Ethan Altshul is a 17-year-old writer and lifelong baseball fan whose work is forthcoming or has appeared in the I-70 Review and the Broadkill Review. The grandson of two published poets, he currently works as a poetry and prose editor for Kalopsia Literary Journal. Ethan lives in West Chester, Pennsylvania, with his family.

Jason David Córdova lives in Puerto Rico as an illustrator and painter. Some of his art can be seen on Instagram at @jasoni72. You can also visit his shop on Red Bubble.

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