Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons
my father was a Red Sox fan
so I didn’t know basketball
never held one until sixth grade
never appreciated the rhythm
of the game the way it moves
like a sonnet from side to side
I can’t name the types of plays
and I wouldn’t know a foul
if one slapped me in the face
I don’t know the great players
or even the names of teams
and yet I tune in every time
Steph plays not because of his
skill or how his playing elevates
every game or because has four
rings and certainly not because
his presence guarantees a win
(it doesn’t)—I watch to watch
his face looking the way you
once looked when you were
too young to care about losing
and played the game you loved—
chess or foursquare or cops &
robbers or tag—focused yet
relaxed working the mouth guard
the way a toddler with a toy works
a pacifier lost in joy eyes lit up
in love in that moment with life I
watch because I know he’ll keep
playing long after retirement after
his vision fades and reaction time
slows after grey peppers the hair
on his children’s heads and nothing
but the end will make him stop
Kaecey McCormick is a freelancer and creative writer currently living in the San Francisco Bay Area. She served as poet laureate for the city of Cupertino (2018-2020), and her work has found a home in different literary journals, including Clockhouse, One Sentence Poems, and ONE ART as well as her chapbooks Sleeping with Demons (Finishing Line Press, 2023) and Pixelated Tears (Prolific Press, 2018). When not writing, you can find her climbing a mountain, painting, or reading a book.
