The Field

Between lower and upper school
there was a field of sports, love, play—
Dreams of soft and baseball champions
landing from home plate way out
to the wall at the base of the middle
school playground.

Polytechnic was the place, a school
of high repute, manners, uniforms
except on certain Fridays and in
High School.

Across the field you would have to walk;
especially that 1983-4 year, when
Gosney Theater practically closed—and
Garland Theater proudly opened.

A fine arts complex, home to new
classrooms and classes for pre-K
to 12th. At arts period, we in 6th grade
got to make the liberating walk from
there to there…

Mostly without much of an event,
but once in a while, a specter walked ahead
of me—sometimes in opposite direction.
A figure of a young man, seventeen or eighteen
years old, surrounded by friends.

It was my brother, as I kept looking and
walking, he as well—bringing us closer.

I got excited, as we would interact to break
the cold day, a cloud parting, the sunlight
of heroes speaking:

“Hey, Billy!!” His friends smiling too.

I was embraced by the glow that
is “fitting in,” “mattering,” “being cared for,”
and noticed by older, cooler people.

I waved back and smiled shyly,
as my day improved down to
arts I had not yet found in myself,
lunch, more of the grind
‘til sports or Fridays with Dad