A remembrance at Eldridge Park in Elmira, NY
At the edge of the hills,
where the air holds the scent of mown grass and river wind,
a diamond-shaped field gathers the last of the sun.
Dad laces his cleats,
fine dust lifting around him like a warm, familiar spell.
The umpire’s call is sharp,
the bat’s crack a small thunder -
but more than victory fills the evening.
Beyond the fence, the lake waits,
darkening, holding the light the way memory holds joy.
We walk there, all together,
the air softened by night’s first breath.
And then—Eldridge Park blooming into glow,
strings of bulbs like captive fireflies,
the carousel alive with wooden horses,
nostrils flared, manes flying as if caught
in an endless summer wind.
Dad leans forward on the gallop,
eyes fixed on the brass ring.
Each reach is a leap into possibility,
our hands tight on the poles,
our hearts keeping time with the music.
When he wins—and he always wins -
the ride begins again,
as if joy itself had learned to run in circles
without ever tiring.
Mom walks behind us,
her smile like the quiet warmth of lantern light,
her laughter soft but whole -
the kind you carry forever,
no matter how far the years pull you.
In that place,
she seems lighter than air,
freed of every burden except the weight of happiness.
The coaster is gone now.
The arcade has grown quiet.
But the ring remains -
shining in the private museum of the heart.
And when I close my eyes,
the summer air is still warm,
the carousel still turns,
and my parents are still there -
bright as the lights,
strong as the music,
endless as the ride.
GBS
2023
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