I’ll Be Ok - Sondre Lerche
You who attacked my old heart with a glance
and you placed it with something new.
You ran away as the pendulum swung,
I had only begun.
I’ll be OK, I’ll be OK.
Marie: So, Dan. You were born.
Dan: I was born. Like everybody else. And I grew up, like everybody else. Good?
Marie nods.
Dan: Okay, what else? I went to school and I had a Bonanza lunchpail. This show - a 60’s TV show- when I was ten I wanted to be a magician, so I would hold these magic shows where I tried to make a neighborhood girl levitate, and she didn’t. And it involved a body cast and several stitches- Let me tell you something, something I’ve never- you’re gonna laugh, something I’ve never told anybody in my life. Um, and this is really hard for me to say.
Marie and Dan Laugh.
Dan: Um, and then she got sick. And, uh, then she was gone. And, uh, it’s taken a while. We should probably talk about something else.
Marie: So, you’re telling me that you’re one of those widowers with three daughters who preys on unsuspecting women in bookstores?
Dan: It seems that would be me.
I wouldn’t say the girl of my dreams, no. I mean, I think, technically the, uh, girl of my dreams would probably have, like, a really bodacious rack, you know, uh, maybe different hair. You know, she’d probably be a little more into sports, but, um. Truthfully, Robin’s better than the girl of my dreams. She’s real.
"Before a game in St. Louis in 1955, Russ Meyer was sitting alone in the Dodgers dugout. He picked up an old baseball, looked at it carefully, and said, speaking to himself and to no one: ‘Just think of it. This little ball causes all of the trouble.’"
— James T. Farrell
13. You've got tickets and the weatherman says, "It's going to be a great day for a ball game."
- 1,001 Reasons to Love Baseball
From the Fishouse - How To Fall In Love With Your Father, Ross Gay
Put your hands beneath his armpits, bend your knees,
wait for the clasp of his thinning arms; the best lock
cheek to cheek. Move slow. Do not, right now,
recall the shapes he traced yesterday
on your back, moments before being wheeled to surgery.
Do not pretend the anxious calligraphy of touch
was sign beyond some unspeakable animal stammer. Do not
go back further into the landscape of silence you both
tended, with body and breath, until it nearly obscured all
but the genetic gravity between you.
And do not imagine wind now blowing that landscape
into a river which spills into a sea. Because it doesn’t.
That’s not this love poem. In this love poem
the son trains himself on the task at hand,
which is simple, which is, finally, the only task
he has ever had, which is lifting
the father to his feet.
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Sitting, Waiting, Wishing - Jack Johnson
Well if I was in your position,
I’d put down all my ammunition,
I’d wondered why’d it taken me so long.
But lord knows that I’m not you
and if I was I wouldn’t be so cruel,
‘cause waiting on love ain’t so easy to do.
