Monday morning, January 23,2023 at 6 a.m.
The two doubles against Spencerport, the hits
my father Paul Ryan never saw that summer of 1968
of American Legion baseball, the games that went
unattended the one season I hit over.400, even
outhitting our clean-up man Steve "Luigi" Lewis,
all well-remembered, invoked now, this very moment,
valued, highly valued all his hours of thankless
laboring in the pharmacy so we could attend
university debt-free, his lifelong love of Norte
Dame football buried, buried deep inside of me.
Water. Of baptism. Elm tree, front yard. Of life.
A full life. Cauldron. Of life's turmoil, struggles.
Surrender. Finality. Of death. Due. Do us part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem