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greatpoetry2007-01-28 11:39 am
wildblueangel47.livejournal.com) wrote in greatpoetry2007-01-28 11:39 am
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1975
A son asks his father to spiral a football over a tree,
to arc it so the ball arrives an instant before the child.
The child dives—tendons extended, heart bucking, hands
opening jaw-like to clutch what descends from the sky:
mother left today for the institution.
If the ball hits the ground she dies.
That December afternoon the boy’s mother passed away
thirty-three times in the first hour.
Each time he grabbed her head from the snow
and ran it back to his father. Promised
to do better. And he did. He ran hard, focused, dove.
He caught mother’s skull thirteen times in a row
and she’s still not coming home.
~Jeffrey McDaniel, alibi school
A son asks his father to spiral a football over a tree,
to arc it so the ball arrives an instant before the child.
The child dives—tendons extended, heart bucking, hands
opening jaw-like to clutch what descends from the sky:
mother left today for the institution.
If the ball hits the ground she dies.
That December afternoon the boy’s mother passed away
thirty-three times in the first hour.
Each time he grabbed her head from the snow
and ran it back to his father. Promised
to do better. And he did. He ran hard, focused, dove.
He caught mother’s skull thirteen times in a row
and she’s still not coming home.
~Jeffrey McDaniel, alibi school
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I love that.
Perfectly captures that childhood superstition.
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and love the book it's from, too.
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