As they told the tale of Moses
And my momma praised the Lord
I saw a noontime stained-glass river of sunshine
Roll across the floor
A growing boy of just eleven
But I’d turn twelve in June
I heard the old men talking about him
The black man in Dodger blue
I had washed in separate washrooms
And walked through separate doors
But I ran back from the newsstand the day after
He went three for four
Momma used to pray on Sundays
Over static bands from Grandpa’s Silvertone
It was the spring of 1947
And I dreamed I was waving Jackie home
Sometimes in the evening
After all my chores
It was the bottom of the ninth,
two gone, full count
Tied score
You take away the colors
The black and white and green
You got eighteen soldiers staring down the barrel
At the same American Dream
Now Jackie he was a fighter
Like my daddy fought the War
He said “Son, your heart will always
tell you what’s worth fighting for”
Daddy used to say
“You don’t hate no one...
Hate’s like getting dirt
on your church clothes”
It was the spring of ’47
And I dreamed I was waving Jackie home
And I slept with my first ball glove
Daddy handed me down
And momma fixed up the stitching and
I oiled it caramel brown
On the days I saw my daddy
It was way past sundown
Another double shift at the warehouse
He was so damn proud
He came home real late one night
He hardly made a sound
But I heard him whisper “Get your mitt,
the Dodgers are in town...”
We were swaying in the bleachers
When he doubled into left
Jackie looked just like Moses,
as he parted that sea of red...
We all saw it comin’
Then Jackie he stole third
And when the pitcher just threw a wild one...
I heard this old man hurling slurs
And my Daddy said to me
“You don’t hate no one...
Hate’s like getting dirt
on your church clothes”
It was June in 1947
And there I was... waving Jackie home