The Foul Shot
- Emma Creighton
- Oct 23, 2023
- 1 min read
As the lights become dim—
The wood floor
Becomes my driveway.
People descending, slowly,
One by one.
The walls fade out into dark green trees.
The tips of my toes
A toothpick away from the bold black line.
Fifteen feet from the circular orange rim.
Three dribbles.
One,
Two,
Three.
Inhaling as much air possible,
Exhaling
With a heavy heart.
The loud beautiful beat in the chest becoming steady
Once again.
The red faced players.
The huffing and puffing next to me.
I spin the ball through my fingers.
Anticipating the whisper
Of the whistle.
Looking at the stopped clock.
One more breath.
I Release.
Closed eyes and a focused mind
Waiting
For the sound.
Swish.
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