HOW MOM CONTRASTS AS A BASEBALL FAN
WITH THE FAMOUS PROFESSOR WHO WROTE HIS BOOK
ON BASEBALL AND GOD ALL THE WHILE
HEADING UP THE UNIVERSITY, PRACTICING LAW,
TEACHING A CLASS, EVEN WHILE ADVISING DEBATE COACHES
Once I asked Mom about the man
who sat in front of her at the stadium.
What does he do, Mom?
Jimmy, what an awful thing to ask at a ballgame.
OPENING CONVERSATION WITH MY SISTER
ON RECEIVING HER GIFT OF THE BOOK
ABOUT BASEBALL AND GOD
It arrived as a suggestion on my Amazon account.
I have never ordered a baseball before.
I had two glasses of wine knocked out of my hands.
Craig described it as other worldly.
No one was around.
They flew out of my hands.
I think the book came from Mom.
This is a poem.
I’m going to steal it.
I’m not quite sure how.
It doesn’t matter whether you set alarm or not.
Skiing the mountain, reading Luke’s Gospel.
I’m afraid I sound closer to God than I am.
How do I really feel about pitchers and catchers.
You’ve gone too far this time, Jim.
It’s snowing and blowing on the mountain.
Yet another friend has told me
I’m not going to be skiing forever.
Someday this poem will let me go too,
but I will remain inside the Magnificat singing and weeping.
She’d shake her head if I mentioned Mary.
Every time I talked with Mom about God, she shuddered.
Her rejection of the church was never a rejection of Jesus.
It did coincide with her season tickets to the Mariners.
It gave me great satisfaction to call it
the failure of Christianity.
I haven’t been to a ball game since Mom died,
and before that, not after her move six years ago.
The wine flew out of your hands you say.
Craig calls it right, otherworldly.
And the book comes from Mom.
I can’t steal what is given you say.
Let me try and thank you. My report on the book
comes from Mom’s seats in Section 331.
Mom is the umpire calling balls and strikes.
What’s in or out of bounds, not my concern.
20 March 2013