COACH DIDN’T CANCEL PRACTICE ON TUESDAY

So we wear gloves on our left hands and tell each other that we’re infinitely warmer.
Look: almost all of us were born where the heat rains down and blocks you in,
dirt swimming on the edges of our porches.
And we all keep turning to each other and saying at least it’s not summer
‘cause Chloe’s not seeing spots and Haley’s not sitting out
and everybody’s anger froze in their throats in the morning
So nobody’s yelling at Navarro high and we can all still shake gloved hands: good match.
And anyone who wasn’t born here figured out the heat quick,
that its better to wait out a tournament with backs facing the wind
than to have anyone’s face in the sun.
We take a break to take our right hands off the racquets and put them in our pockets and
breathe hot air on cracking knuckles and reddened thumbs.
It’s 43, but we don’t actually know freezing
so William puts on a jacket and Kalen curses at each gust of wind and
we readjust our gloves, pick up balls with our other hands. And
all of us thinking about leaving here take off layers
to prove that we could make it anywhere else, where
heat stays in the sky and doesn’t settle on the courts, Where
All of us who know all of us don’t know anyone at all and
someone eventually says it’s really not that cold.
It’s 17 in Boston like they’ve ever lived another life but this one.