On the rough diamond,
the hand-cut field below the dog lot and barn,
we rehearsed the strict technique
of bunting. I watched from the infield,
the mound, the backstop
as your left hand climbed the bat, your legs
and shoulders squared toward the pitcher.
You could drop it like a seed
down either base line. I admired your style,
but not enough to take my eyes off the bank
that served as our center-field fence.
 
Years passed, three leagues of organized ball,
no few lives. I could homer
into the left-field lot of Carmichael Motors,
and still you stressed the same technique,
the crouch and spring, the lead arm absorbing
just enough impact. That whole tiresome pitch
about basics never changing,
and I never learned what you were laying down.
 
Like a hand brushed across the bill of a cap,
let this be the sign
I’m getting a grip on the sacrifice.

  • David Bottoms, "Sign for My Father, Who Stressed the Bunt" from Armored Hearts: Selected and New Poems. Copyright © 1995 by David Bottoms.  Reprinted by permission of Copper Canyon Press. www.coppercanyonpress.org

  • Source: Armored Hearts: Selected and New Poems (Copper Canyon Press, 1995)

Poet Bio

What People are Saying

"I learned that I had the ability to capture the attention of an audience and evoke emotion from them. When I recited my first poem in 9th grade for a mock POL class competition, I was incredibly shy and barely audible. But eventually I grew to love sharing the emotions poems gave me."
Chiara Raimondo
2016 NY POL Champion