Oriole Wings Clipped

by Rajesh C. Oza

In memory of Louise Glück, 1943-2023, winner of the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature

When Louise was a young-adult,
The Orioles were high-flying.

Dave, Jim, and Mike were 20-game winners;
Brooks, Davey, and Paul were Gold-Glovers;
Boog and Frank slugged homers to grateful fans;
Earl shoved dirt on umpires’ cleats.

Days before Louise died,
The Orange Birds were swept.
Balty fans wept salty tears of sadness:

“We were made fools of.
And the scent of mock orange
drifts through the window.
How can I rest?
How can I be content
when there is still
that odor in the world?”

(Referencing Glück’s “Mock Orange”)

Dodger Blues

by Rajesh C. Oza

In memory of Louise Glück, 1943-2023, winner of the 2020 Nobel Prize in Literature

When Louise was born,
The Dodgers were in Brooklyn.

Before Jackie, a name for the ages,
There were other colorful monikers:
Arky, Augie, and Billy;
Dixie, Mickey, and Frenchy.

This was more than a decade before
Campy, Jackie, Pee Wee, and Sandy
Won the World Series.

This was decades before
Clayton’s Los Azure dreams
Died with Louise’s laments into oblivion,
A pain salved with rebirth in Spring:

“You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure sea water.”

(Referencing Glück’s “Wild Iris”)

Playing Ball in the Hereafter

by Bill Cushing

As children, Henry Aaron and Don Sutton
grew up in towns three hours apart
and learned the game between fields of cotton;

then the hitter moved east, the pitcher, west,
as they took paths to opposite coasts.
Two All-Stars, they became among the best.

Upon dying, Sutton arrived first and may
have used the time to loosen his arm
while warming up on the clay

waiting for Hammerin’ Hank’s arrival.
As they play, now in eternal prime,
celestial fans admire erstwhile rivals

and wonder, from where they sit,
what is the most wonderous display:
the sweet pitch or power-driven hit?

 

A former New Yorker, Bill Cushing lives and writes in Los Angeles as a Dodger fan (by order of his wife!). His latest collection, Just a Little Cage of Bone (Southern Arizona Press), contains this and other sports-related poems.