Fly Ball

From the kitchen window, I see the flash of silver
on the back of the waving grasses
at the edge of the drive,
and the deep green shadows of the windbreak cottonwoods
they planted when this house was a farm.
I see what was, or might have been true:
Our passage across that summer.

I remember that hot night, the cherries in the blue bowl,
the mayflies around the streetlight,
the thump of the bass drum from the marching band,
rehearsing five blocks over.
I have finished the dishes, turned off the kitchen light.

I can hear your transitor radio
On the back porch.
“High fly ball,” I hear you repeat,
“Over the fence, into the night.”

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One thought on “Fly Ball

  1. odhran25 says:

    Part of that poem is based on a great baseball call from Dan Dickerson, when the Detroit Tigers won against Cleveland: “First pitch to Pudge, fly ball, deep to left, into the night… GOODBYE! Two run shot, Tigers win! Oh man! Pudge Rodriguez with two outs delivers. Into a mob scene at home. 4-3 Tigers win!”

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