They Couldn't Take Us to the Ballgames
/They couldn’t take us to the ballgames,
couldn’t buy us Cracker Jacks—
I was a poor white immigrant girl,
and you were one of the blacks.
We lived in a tenement
4A and 4B.
“Don’t talk to that black boy,”
my mother said to me.
Your mother warned you,
against the neighboring whites.
“Don’t even look at that white girl.
I don’t want any fights.”
We were six,
keys pinned in our pockets—
no fathers, and our mothers late
cleaning other people’s toilets.
You said Hi to my knees,
I waved low, so you could see.
You never looked into my face,
cause that’s where I was me.
I never talked any words to you—
without saying, we agreed—
two kids in a tenement
best be good for their mommies,
so they’d take us to the ballgames,
buy some Cracker Jacks—
for a poor white immigrant girl,
and you one of the blacks.
The big boys wouldn’t let you play,
in the school ground with the fence.
No one likes immigrant girl
mitt funny clothes und accent,
You asked me if I wanted to
play with a tennis ball
you marked with a red pen
to make it look official.
I brought out the broomstick
my mother kept by the door
to protect ourselves
from murderers and robbers.
Down by old railroad tracks
grass and glass and nails
you kept your eye on the ball
I couldn’t talk so I’d sing
“Take us out to the ballgame,”
like Katie Casey, the fan,”
and add “I’m a white cracker Jane”
to get us both laughing.
Then 4B was empty.
I never saw you again.
But when I think of baseball,
I remember us back then:
We were the ballgame,
along abandoned tracks—
a poor white immigrant girl,
finding home with one of the blacks—
and a white ball turned gold with our touch,
a broomstick and a pen—
a boy looking up to the sky,
a girl learning to sing.
By Susanna Rich
From: United States
Website: http://www.wildnightsproductions.com
Twitter: susannarich
Facebook URL: https://www.facebook.com/susanna.rich/