It was summer, 1962
and I was seven years old.
I loved our screen porch where my mother never came
except for meals in the berry-bush cicada evenings.
It was my father's domain, and mine.
He read his newspaper or did crosswords
with a ballgame on the radio.
I loved the march music at the opening and in the beer ads.
Sometimes the weatherproof rug was a dance floor
for my dolls when my brother wasn't there to make fun.
My main thing that summer, though
was my cards spread out on the old
table, retired from the kitchen, now the grand dame of the porch.
I had prayer cards--
Saint Anthony, Saint John Bosco, Theresa of Avila,
colorful as comic books, bright as the light of Heaven.
I had baseball cards--
Rocky Colavito, Cuno Barragan, Orlando Cepeda
with dark woody borders
and early 60's dark caps
they looked as if they played in perpetual shadows.
There was incense
in the form of my father's Dutch Masters cigar.
There were the sacraments
and the sacrifice bunt.
The saints seemed backlit, blessed by Divine Hollywood.
The players cards were sometimes misprinted with a
green-tinted background as if they were undersea.
I liked to mix them, shuffled and fanned out.
Saint Sebastian, patron of athletes, his foot
resting on the top step of the dugout, gesturing
his fielders into position
with a wave of his scorecard,
or by messages brought by angels.
Jim Bunning striking out the devil with a wicked side-arm fastball,
making Old Scratch look foolish
as the vendors call and the fans
cheer. Jim walks off the field in the sunshine, no shadow in sight.
I have forgotten which cards I had, mostly.
Who was the beer sponsor? Schlitz? Blatz?
What had I done that spring?
What did I do that fall? In summer 1962
my father and President Kennedy were alive
and so were the saints and ballplayers
On the table
on the screen porch
in summer, 1962.
_____________
for What's Going On? "Forgetfulness"
Music: Gale Garnett We'll Sing in The Sunshine
And Detroit Tigers march music radio intro
I'm smiling at the images in this poem--the mix of cards, but also the old table, "the grand dame of the porch" and the incense and sacraments. I love the music, the mix of faith and popular culture. What a joy to have this memory, regardless of the few things forgotten--this is a gem of a poem, making me want to remember my own holy spaces.
ReplyDeleteOh this took me back. I could see (and almost feel) it all, the porch, your father, the radio, the cards. Back then, I could write a letter to Hollywood stars like Fabian, Annette Funicello, others whose names, sadly, I forget - and they would send me back an envelope full of autographed photos. That was how communicating with fans and building careers was done back then. Your wonderful poem took me back to the back porch at my grandma's, where I hang my childhood for safekeeping.
ReplyDeleteWow, just wow! So many memories. I used to sit with my dad too and listen to the radio baseball games. We often would sit in the driveway in my dad's car! Milwaukee Braves for us. And I too had my baseball cards, which would have been worrth a lot of a work person had not stolen them from the attic, along with my Howdy Doody marionette, when my mother (blind then) hired them. I was heartsick, but could never prove it. No prayer cards for me. Lutherans didn't have them. Ah, the summer of 1962 -- before the beginning of the end of the American dream, before ...... Thanks for this!
ReplyDeleteWhat a great memory. You capture the innocence of childhood perfectly.
ReplyDeleteI love how tenderly you portray these memories - vivid and touching - Jae
ReplyDeleteThe details- the incense, the saints, the baseball cards- create a rich, almost cinematic world that transports us to 1962, making it feel timeless. Beautiful reflection on memories and the passage of time, Shay.
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful collage Shay, so visual. A very much different world to me except that daddy time. I used to listen to cricket commentary with my father. I still remember his excitement at every opponent's wicket fall. So lovely to read each line. Thank you for sharing such wonderful thoughts.
ReplyDeleteSimple, straightforward yet rich, shadowy and evocative as a faint fragrance that brings a memory to life. I am always going to picture you as a child this way now, feeling the magic of the saints and players, the pull of the images, the sense of connection to your father and the endless boys of summer that have come and gone before and after 1962. Your skill at painting these images is unmatched.
ReplyDeleteI got goosebumps, Shay. Those memories, so precious, so treasured, are a gift for sure. It was fun to "see" you there on that porch.
ReplyDeleteYou, certainly have a way of setting a scene. I can see it clearly. I have never heard of saint cards.
ReplyDeleteThank you for letting me slip into your childhood. To me it seems like a Tarot reading. What will a saint and a baseball player say to me on this porch? I think they said, "This is a moment you will never forget."
ReplyDeleteI love the shuffling of saints and players. Yes, what is a sacrifice bunt, and what is going to the Lions, except that’s a different sport entirely. What players were saints diving for the catch? What saints were players, closing down the bars of Rome, stories never told. Beer ads, baseball, cigars, saints. What better wrap childhood in a porch of Summer night…
ReplyDelete