B’sefer Chayim Tovim, October 1965

B’sefer Chayim Tovim, October 1965

By Ray Myers

Now is the quiet after.

Before were the flash-pop bulbs, the champagne roar, the speeches,
the old friends and strangers gathered in close
to pluck the sweat-work from your shirt, your cap,
the close-pressed joy;

before was the war. Dying by fire or by flood,
the fear carefully pressed into the fastball,
the sizzle of leather on leather, the pacing, clack-sharpness
on stained concrete and predictable give on dull red dirt,
not the impulse to kneel but the impulse behind the impulse;

before were the Days of Awe stretched long:
who will rest and who will wander,
who will be degraded and who will be exalted,
who will toil for success and who will toil for pain;
the battle with God and time, the ask with no answer,
no answer til now.

Now is the quiet after.
Now is the rest.
Now you unhook your trembling fingers,
give back your tired arm, all work done,
the harvest reaped, the battle fading.
You can lean, a little, and slump in victory.
The book is closed,
for now, there is no more to write.

This was the second most-read piece of 2022.

Ray Myers is a foreign language educator living in Washington, D.C. Their work has previously been published in LOGOS. Raised in Massachusetts, they feel blessed to be a second-generation Red Sox fan.

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