A Redolence of Eden

Playing catch on the manicured lawn in the park,
throwing the ball and watching him throwing it back,
timing his running around the bases all the way back to home
while I hold her tight and sneak a kiss
when he isn't looking so he can't pretend to say ugh,
eating homemade sandwiches on a picnic blanket,
listening to him chatter
about growing up and playing in the World Series,
hugging her and listening to him chatter, 
if only these words describing that summer's day
could have remained in the present tense,
but they slipped into the past and then the past perfect,
the past before the past,
and now these words conjure up a redolence of  Eden
with its plucked and putrid fruit,
for the rusted park gate is sealed with a rusted lock,
and the grass within has long ago grown to weeds.

Richard Fein

If you've any comments on this poem, Richard Fein would be pleased to hear from you.