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  • Baseball, and: Fording
  • Laurel Nakanishi (bio)

Baseball

The  women  in  the  outfield  have  begun  toshout, leaning into the fence.  “Dale muchacho!Dale!”  The  white  horse  grazing  near  thirdbase startles and looks reproachfully over hisshoulder.  Damaris is organizing to dance upona table if Francisco hits a homerun.  “Here isyour girlfriend!”  They wave their arms overher head, “Here is the Damaris! Hit it here!”Francisco sweeps the bat through the air twicebefore cracking it deep into the tall grass.  Sarahas taken her shoes off to clap above her head.In the absence of a table, Damaris climbs upona stool. Even the baby has figured out when tostand and shake the fence in her small fists.  Theoutfielder is wet to his knees in retrieving theball.  From the thatched dugout the coach hascome running and stands near home to smackeach player on the back.

When it is all over and the home team has won,the men get drunk and walk through town withtheir shirts flipped up.  There is only so far to goup the main street and then down again.  Fromtheir porches, the women watch them pass andshout:  “What happened on that third run,Juanito?” and “Hey Gallo, my mother-in-lawhits better than you!”  At dusk the men gatherin the only bar in town.  The music is deafening.It carves out vibrating spaces in their bodies andwhen they go stumbling down the empty street,it booms and echoes within them. [End Page 112]

Fording

There are three of them now, up to their knees,whipping around the reins.  Some of the menshout “Yah!  Yah!” and some whoop, and Juanitofrom the canoe cries “Go!  Go!”  They havelassoed the lead cow’s head and are draggingit out into the current.  The herd hesitates atthe edge of the eddy where the water dropspast their legs.  They eye the swift water, theyeye the lead cow, swimming fretfully now, itshead barely visible beside the motoring canoe.The men kick at the cows with their tall rubberboots.  “Go!”  And they swim, uncannily in astraight line, nosing the other’s tail.

Francisco  sits  back  on  his  horse,  watching.Carlos turns in the shallow water and tracksthe herd that has begun to loop back to theshore, still in their perfect line.  “Carajo!”  Theyrepeat the act four times, urging and roping anddragging, Juanito swearing from the canoe.

A crowd has come to watch.  They settle ontorocks or lean up against the anchor tree: thetown’s  informal port.  They  observe  as  thethird  cow  goes  under,  her  legs  flailing  thensurfacing the mass of her back.  Carlos reignsup and circles around, trying to get a rope onher.  Juanito calls from the boat.  And the cowgoes down again.  “Haul her upstream,” theyshout from the shore, “Let her stand on herown.”  When at last Francisco dismounts andhis horse drags the cow bodily onto the shore, ithas stopped moving. [End Page 113]

That evening a set of scales is hung from thetree.  They bring their own plastic sacks andcall out from where they stand.  “Give me theshoulder piece!”  “I want two pounds of theloin.”  And every dog in town, licking at theblood in the shallows. [End Page 114]

Laurel Nakanishi

Born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii, Laurel Nakanishi is the author of the chapbook Manoa Makai, and the recipient of a Fulbright scholarship to Nicaragua. Her poems have appeared in Black Warrior Review, Bayou, Yemassee, Gulf Coast and elsewhere. She currently teaches poetry to children in Hawaii and studies non-fiction at Florida International University.

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