Press "Enter" to skip to content

After The Loss

From Talent and The Secret Life of Teams

They consider my voice
An inappropriate companion
To the pounding of their blood,
Hot with fatigue and disappointment.

Their heads are bent
Like a ficus toward light.
But there is no light,
Instead they wait
For the practiced words
That huddle in my brain,
Pocket change from losing.

And I know that I cannot reach
Them with words.

And so we breathe in silence,
A conspiracy of players and coaches
Reassured by rhythmic heaving
Of spent muscle, flesh and synapse.

Each letting go reminds us:

We were prepared.There was opportunity.
We could have won.

These unspoken truths are
What we take with us.
That, and this solitude,
This beautiful, tired breathing.

Be First to Comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *