I found today,
full buried in the grass
in my back yard,
a baseball:
weathered,
grey, and cracked with age,
and yet alive in spirit,
holding someone’s memories
intact through years
of hiding dormant in the grass.
Nostalgia’s rusty grip
held me firmly,
transfixed in an instant
of remembered hours,
minutes,
days,
ticking off the happier times
of imagined sons and fathers
long away
from this forgotten place,
where grass grows tall,
among the farthest flowers
in the corner
of my heart.
Now on Vella
Dystopian Novel:
Recent Comments
jguentherauthor 