Ironed Shadows

Ironed Shadows by Odin Roark Her hands lay smooth the coveralls worn thin now wrinkled once charged with earth Mended armor from courageous prices paid embossed with crosshatched mending stands raised in triumph A home plate remembered by innocence long abandoned players made humble from a boy's first slide for life Vapors rise from sprinkled droplets of water beneath handled hot steel making ready once more the crusted wafer-thin reason for kneeling to a non-questioned answers Facing coerced submission to other games a purple-robed relentless hand feeds rewards from gilded plate accompanied by whispering silver tongue Such are the scoring points of yet another kind Youth's pure white once starched crisp ever ready for combat now labors thread bare atop shoulders and arms riding the reach for caramel-lathered memories chased down with silver chaliced promises from still wider mouths Where goes the love-smooth ironing hand now? Costumes of rumpled thread made anew by hot-pressed caresses now like the ether of memory drift up past the seeing eyes into untethered emptiness Tread carefully lest you become wrinkle-free expediency sliding voraciously into digital home plates forever kneeling faithfully before promised obsolescent rewards delivered smilingly from reflective platters tarnishing quickly