The boy
out there on the court
shooting again and again.
the ball hits the ground,
sound rings in the air
up to my ears, four floors above him.
I don't know much about this boy.
His name, and a few
random facts:
he was going to go to a movie with us
Thursday night,
but he worked on his German
instead;
and he likes to play basketball
shooting hoops on the court.
Today I found out one more thing
about this boy-
isn't it strange that while
I was dancing with joy
in the lounge last night
that same night, the boy's mother
died.
I watch him shooting hoops
and wonder
about him, about how he feels inside,
about loneliness and the sudden changes
from child to adult and
I think about the small comfort
in stepping outside the world to
play basketball under a Saturday night sky.
sjf
March 17, '93