his playing years

his playing years

A Poem by jacob erin-cilberto


his playing years




the reflection revealed in his old eyes of
Babe Ruth in his pinstripes,
standing at home plate in the Stadium,
the hands of my father coming together,
the cheers for a long run around the bases,

the man on his feet at ten
the younger version,
an old tiny mitt fitting like a glove
hoping the Babe might foul one into the seats
a Ruth-ian gesture

the point,
the adolescent eyes straining to see

then the ancient eyes straining to remember
ninety plus years of running his own bases
not on a ball field
but hitting home runs of his own
with career, family, 
never missing a game, like Gehrig
never missing a beat of our lives

and we all wanted to swing the way he did,
his values went long and deep,
his heart pointing toward his sunset

we still fill the empty seats
a row in the grandstand
the ashes fly

he was our Ruth and Gehrig all in one
and he is still slamming long memories
out of the park.


erin-cilberto
3/8/17

© 2017 jacob erin-cilberto



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There are tears in my eyes after reading this, Jacob. We look up to our fathers...they are our heroes. Even when they can not remember, we remember for them. When they are gone, the memories are all we have. I am guessing your Dad's ashes were sprinkled at a ball field? How fitting since he was a baseball fan. Such heartfelt emotions here, Jacob. I feel for you. Lydi**

Posted 9 Months Ago


jacob erin-cilberto

9 Months Ago

thank you for your kind comments...i wonder what he would have thought of that..but his will be plac.. read more
Lydia

9 Months Ago

As it should be.

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Added on March 8, 2017
Last Updated on March 8, 2017

Author

jacob erin-cilberto
jacob erin-cilberto

Carbondale, IL



About
Originally from Bronx, NY, I live in Carbondale, Illinois...teach English at two community colleges and have been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. Friending works two ways. If we have had .. more..

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