Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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Dedicated to Eric Pitman

He squints his eyes, adjusts his hat,
Hunkers down and grips the bat.
Elbows up and shoulders high,
He takes a breath, then lets a sigh.
The ball comes straight and hard. He swings.
A hit! He runs! His feet have wings!
He tags first base. He’s safe! But then
He eyes the field and runs again.
The ball flies fast toward second base.
He slides. . .
He’s still. . .
He smiles. . .
He’s safe!
They tell me this is how it was;
I’ll never know for sure because
I closed my eyes and missed the fun
The day that baseball stole my son.


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Last summer, I began writing again after a 30-year hiatus. I have since had several poems and stories published, including in Leaves of Ink.