Thursday, December 29, 2011

The season of freedom

For the entire baseball season
we met under the bleachers
to drink our freedom,
disposing the empty
Coors bottles by stuffing them in our clothes
surveying the field all the while, to see if anyone
noticed we went missing.

We returned  to
our desks pretending nothing had happened
writing notes in the margins
of books, pining for another
of freedom.

We didn't know
we were already free
of our old selves.




  1. seems like such an innocent coming of age. why do we worry then as parents?:-)

    it is good to read you again, rosaria))


  2. It is our worry that keeps our children from growing up too fast. They will grow up,none the less, no matter what we do.

  3. We didn't know we were free. Well, I wasn't yet back then! Took a long, long time.

  4. Lovely and evocative, Rosaria. I grew up slowly and never had such experiences, other than skipping June classes to go to the outdoor pool across the street.

  5. i'm trying to get my head around this poem and your comment rosaria. it is our worry that keeps our children from growing up too fast. now, as i sit in an empty house with my kids back to their lives, i will think about this. maybe you are right.

  6. It's a melancholy sweetness: the world will go on changing us, we will go on trying to catch up, always a little off balance.