When the daylight starts its fading,
And the partly cloudy sky, from blue to gray
Is changing and anticipating
The ending of the time in which we stay,
Through the air a ball is flying,
Spinning white with blurring threads of red
Like pinkish wisps of cloud defying
Darkness where the night begins to spread.
Two figures stand apart but not alone,
Connected by the ball between them passing.
Remembered disagreements both have known
Dissolve in evening’s summer air amassing.
Such moments missed throughout the years are fleeting
Save when fields of dreams enchant a meeting.
I watched the movie Field of Dreams recently, and the very last scene always gets to me, with the father and son playing catch. There's such a buildup throughout the movie, with the son talking about remembered grievances and missed opportunities with his father. It all fades away in that final, simple act, when they get to meet again, and he says, "Hey, Dad, you want to have a catch?" I started writing this poem the same evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment