Mother’s Day 1985, Van Cortlandt Park

After the brunch and the long-stemmed rose,  we stopped in the park for a catch.

My husband took the baseball gloves from the car and tossed one to each of us.

You two spread out, he said,  and we trotted obediently across the grass.

He threw the first ball to me,  and I shielded my eyes as I watched it sail through the sunny Bronx sky.

Aim right at it Mom,  and then close your glove,  yelled my son.

But my heart was too full and I lost the ball in my tears.

Dana Susan Lehrman



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