Stickball by Margery Wynne

My childhood,
the building blocks
that formed my identity,
my character.
Humble beginnings,
a city child with
cement instead of grassy fields.
Stickball in the street,
not little league.
I didn’t know that I was deprived.
How can you miss what you’ve never had?
Now my children have grass, trees,
soccer teams with fancy equipment.
But I don’t see the joy in their faces
that would envelop me, the exhilaration
when I slammed that rubber ball
with a mop handle
and scored a triple.
A child with no backyard or
a child with no broken mop handle.
Which ones of us were deprived?

Copyright © 1997 Margery Wynne