Tom Sheehan - "In Cold Fields"

They left us then,
we in our sneakers
and innocence
of those bright summer days,
to go away from us
with our big brothers,
left us lonely and miserable
on corners, in cold fields
with all the long-ball hitters gone,
the big sticks of the neighborhood,
and the big wood of the Majors,
and we cried in dark cells of home
for our brothers and bubble-gum heroes,
a community of family.

Oh, Eddie's brother not yet home
from someplace in World War II,
Zeke's brother who owned the soul
of every pitcher he ever caught,
a shortstop the Cards owned,
Spillane, I think, his name;
and in that great silence out there
Billy centerfield left his arc
in Kwajalein debris.

Oh, brotherless we played our game,
no deep outfield, no zing to pitch,
no speed, no power, loveless
without a big brother
to show the growing.

And then, not long after the Braves
rode that mighty crest,
our turn came,
and we left our brothers
on corners, in cold fields,
we long-ball hitters.



Hummers, Knucklers, and Slow Curves
Edited by Don Johnson