fall classic

forty-seven octobers ago

i was eleven

dad was thirty-nine

and we lived in a shotgun

apartment for missionaries

who had come home

from the field . . .

I didn’t know much

about america, but

I loved the boston red sox

though we had never been

to boston in the fall

and I was not much

of a baseball player . . .

forty-seven octobers ago

the sox made it to

the world series — when they

still played afternoon games

and as I left for school

dad said, “do you want to come

home early and watch with me?”

he wrote me a note for every

afternoon game

I walked home and

we sat on the couch

together while the red sox

raised my hopes and

broke my heart . . .

the favorite memory

of my childhood

is crisp and alive

in the autumn air

and the leaves letting go

like dad did this summer

let’s go red sox . . .

Peace,

Milton