his playing yearsA Poem by jacob erin-cilbertohis playing years 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-cilbertoReviews
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Added on March 8, 2017Last Updated on March 8, 2017 Authorjacob erin-cilbertoCarbondale, ILAboutOriginally from Bronx, NY, I live in Carbondale, Illinois...teach English at a community college and have been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. I am here to read for inspiration from other po.. more..Writing
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