A Jar of Bones

Parallels

We played swing ball in the garden, perhaps twenty years ago,

when the grass grew around the shed like

and the sun was-

Well, above us I suppose.

There was something in the wind I could not say,

but it made me want to hit that ball,

and live.

I wanted to cry the way you cried at Italian opera and homeless appeals.

All I mustered was a mood.

And you said,

you said – Pretend this ball is everything

that hurts you and makes you mad, makes you feel like giving up.

Then hit it with all the opiate anger coursing within you

and perhaps you'll beat me this time.

So I stood, in the weeds so            ,

steadied myself and swung my bat as though.

As though I had it in me.

The sky darkened and still I cannot tell you how.

Your shirt was stained with grass stains –

You said like an artist's portrait of liberty –

I said it needed a wash.

I wanted to hit that ball so hard my arm would be wrenched from its socket like a

like a –

Like Frankenstein's monster, you said.

And you were right, the ball moved faster.

But the string has not grown any longer.