My mother,
daughter of the depression,
FDR, and Fireside Chats--
At the local Kwik Shop,
she's only a "Taker"
in the sign saying,
"Take a penny,
leave a penny,"
but one day,
like Willie Mays
making "The Catch,"
Carlton Fisk
willing that ball fair,
Bernie and Bucky
blasting big homers
for, and against, Boston,
and Kirk connecting off "Eck,"
my mom came
through in the clutch
for me.
In fourth grade,
a growing boy,
breathing baseball,
needs a glove
to scoop grounders,
shag flies,
chase dreams.
So Mom
drives to Sears
Sporting Goods
where I fall
in love with
a Wilson, autographed
Jim "Catfish" Hunter
model baseball glove--
1970 price--
twenty-five dollars!
Maybe Mom saw
something in my face
or the way
the leather fit
my hand,
or heard the sound
of her son's fist
punching the pocket,
already anticipating
snaring the first
line drive--
more likely--
to use the baseball
terminology that
Mom never knew--
she sacrificed.
Thirty years later,
as I use my "Catfish"
glove to play catch
with a wife,
a son,
and a daughter,
I recall a mother's love
and how twenty-five
dollars
was a bargain after all.
(12/10/2001)