May 5

The game has admitted everyone.
Buy a ticket and enter the park.

But I must admit the tears I shed–
for a lost game, a lost borough,

for love my father was too broke
to show– are wasted. My mom

and I watching Japanese ball
during a lockout, my mom and I

cheering for opposing sides
during a series, my mom singing me

happy birthday when her Red Sox
broke the curse for the first time.

When will she play? Her daughters
in the bullpens warming, ready

for the call. The names of families
brushed away through clouds

of dust and old age, marriage
of grass to dirt, track to wall

of promise to potential, bat
to ball. Boy to girl. Ideals.

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Author:

A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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