Sunday, June 27, 2010

The Vacant Lot Next Door


Photo by Pexels on pixabay


He works hard.
Digs into dirt now thawed.
Baselines reasserted,
makes sure tops of boulders show through,
ready to be tagged.
Wild grass reaching for blue
mowed down to playing level.
The rough, uneven ground slants
slightly towards bushes and marsh;
the graveyard for stitched leather.
Beads of sweat
drip into his eyes
run down his muscled arms
seep through his white tee.
The air chills him.
He breathes deep
smells damp earth, cut grass,
sweat.
One more round of the bases.
A last sweep of the field.
Need to make sure all is clear.
Safe.

Soon the kids will be back
just like he was every year.
Once the air starts to warm
and the ground firms
they gather, make teams, and throw
that first pitch.
He remembers the way his hands
vibrated with the bat
as it struck the ball.
Remembers the flight of white
against blue sky.
The feeling that this one is lost
in the bushes
as his legs carried him home.

Days go by and Albert waits.
His friends are off playing real life,
but sometimes he still finds himself
at the edge of the field.
Every day is warmer. He waits.
Then they come.
Bats and gloves in hand they ramble up
from down the hill
drift in like an early summer breeze. Ready.
One, he can see, has been waiting
in the yard next door.
The big kid who can’t run;
his feet turned in too much for speed.
Albert feels something inside
when the kids let this boy play.
They know this kid can hit
so get somebody to run the bases.
The boy’s slightly chubby arms
look bigger bent in batter stance
and when he swings
you know he is going to connect
and then he does.
As Albert watches
he feels like it’s him standing there.
The boy and Albert
not running in this moment
still seem to find freedom
in giving their gift.
Free as the ball leaving the bat
heading high into blue.
It means
they’re already home.


©2010 Joanne Young Elliott

15 comments:

  1. So romantic...I love your imagery; how I can see it all happening. It's sentimental and sweet, but not saccharine. I love it.

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  2. Thanks Chels. My memories are fertile ground for poetry. I like to find the stories and embellish.

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  3. Joanne! I was completely caught up in this moment! I could see it all play out, and as a huge fan of vacant lot softball as a girl, you could have sung to me in a voice any more clear. I have stolen my memories back from this piece...and I thank you for that! Wonderful :)

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  4. You're welcome and thanks Natasha. I didn't play, but was a fan. My brother was the one who couldn't run, but boy could he hit.

    I love mining my memories for ideas. I started doing that more in the past couple of years. Memories make for rich soil to grow poems.

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  5. smiles. you do well with the stories...this one was touching for me and brought out some of my own memories...really a lovely share...

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  6. A very human narrative, with living characters in a coherent world, and description that puts the reader standing next to them. Enjoyed it much.

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  7. Thank you Brian and Joy. I appreciate your comments.

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  8. Tom Eliot:

    This poem just wraps the reader up in its blanket of skillfully described imagery.
    An absolute pleasure to read. A real experience.

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  9. So glad you reposted this and shared this with us.

    You have a gift for telling a lovely story...and those ending lines are very uplifting.

    also, thanks for your kind words in my blog; will check out that book that you mentioned...

    happy day~

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  10. ..the way t'wards the end really touches deep.. i don't think i can write a piece as romantic as yours... lucky you.. you can.. adorable write!(:

    ~Kelvin

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  11. ..it means they're already home...love this closure as it sums up the whole story so perfectly...very nicely played joanne

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  12. Lovely write, coming from a family that lives on the field I felt so connected to this. ~ Rose

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