By Robert Castagna

I walked the baseball field
       the chain link backstop 
a sentient guard, the only watchman 
                                 against forgetfulness

An All-Star in the minor league
     I was ten,
        hitting a grand slam to win the game
running out the errors of the opposing team

The cheers of the fans, how alive!
       as the grass and the trees,
            stood bright on that singular 
                          summer scene
 
In the local paper
     a tiny paragraph in the back page
              typed out in inky letters
     rubbed off on my fingers

Recording the moment
          that faded over time
               with its yellowing surface
                                decomposing