RICKY: A MEMOIR

1

Years now - ten, it seems-since he died.

Unexpectedly, of course. Still, he stood alongside

Only last night, in a dream, he was there

In place neither space nor time.

2

Yes, we were young, yet aged enough and wise

Not kids, constant companions, baseball guys...

Uncertain, clumsy dancers at the hop, soda sippers, daredevil

Riders pedaling beneath those vast suburban skies.

3

Older instead, as I recall-in between demise

And warm days spent in serious pay tracing Freddy"s flies

In outfield pastures overgrown...on dusty diamonds,

hitting balls

Till mothers called or till our eyes

Could barely see to hit at all.

4

Now-in the dream, I mean-each appear to be the man

He would become in life, so far as we can understand,

At least, the fiction of identity, persistence, and romance

Of self and soul through changes-we children, educated, grown

Pass as solid citizens, two as one, with kids, though really

quite alone.

5

Then, unsurprised at meeting, how easily we talk--rare

Old friends in worlds apart, familiar, who share

Commonplace interests in casual pursuits-who care

For immaterial things (music, singers, players, scores)-

Disregard art of the deal, futures, stocks, retirement plans,

securities and bores.

6

Spectral figures, here among possibilities was our chance

Once and for all perhaps to tell what we know will pass:

How little, how much, how lucky we were, how well

aware at last

Of love and loss, of happiness, diminishment and death,

The cost of business as usual, do what we will-

curse, deny, or bless.

7

And how can I, bewildered infidel, invest a faith in schemes...

Among the swirl of gods and gurus, or someone

else’s dream?

I have no market ability where wonder leads to dread.

No sales pitch can alleviate the weight for me, the fool,

Remotely comprehending just what the thunder said.

8

What then do we consider when heavy turns to light?

The memory of the games we playedbefore the darkened night.

And how to hit the inside pitch, swinging left or right-

To counteract the tailing sphere, the dark, the

spinning ball

That threatens now to break your bat, now to crack your skull.

9

Put fear aside, expect the worst, think balance, and stay tall...

Breathe, relax, stay back, stay back-await the speeding ball.

A moment comes, Prince Hamlet said, when timing dictates all

The readiness, the action, the tragic hero’s fall.

I try to seize some metaphor-to grasp what it may mean-

As if one could at all account for the strangeness of a dream.