PICKLEBALL AMONG THE RUINS
On Sunday mornings
we carry our net down the first hole
to the club.
Green and blue and white
mark the new courts
surrounded by mangled fence.
We start at the no-volley line.
We practice dinking soft shots
back and forth
low over the net
relaxed and alert.
orange wiffle balls
pop and plunk,
a silly sound
80 days after the hurricane.
Moving and playing
like kids who snuck into
an abandoned house,
turned it into a sand castle,
a place to forget insurance adjusters,
car-high debris piles,
lost and shattered lives
after the storm.
We know each serve might start a rally
that swoops and dives and thrives
far past the point where someone
always messes up.
It just keeps going,
this long game of building back
an island–
of giving in again
to hope.
–Len Edgerly
December 20, 2022
Sanibel Island, FL
NOTE: I am scheduled to read this poem tonight at the Hope Rising fundraiser event, which will take place at the Sanibel Recreation Center from 6:30 to 8:30 pm. If you are on Sanibel Island, I hope to see you there!