Fisher, Jessica

English

eGrove (Univ. of Mississippi)

Yalobusha Review Volume 4 Article 31 3-1-1998 Pomona Against Redlands, February 9, 1965 Jessica Fisher Follow this and additional works at: https://egrove.olemiss.edu/yr  Part of the Poetry Commons Recommended Citation Fisher, Jessica (1998) "Pomona Against Redlands, February 9, 1965," Yalobusha Review: Vol. 4 , Article 31. Available at: https://egrove.olemiss.edu/yr/vol4/iss1/31 This Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by the English at eGrove. It has been accepted for inclusion in Yalobusha Review by an authorized editor of eGrove. For more information, please contact egrove@olemiss.edu. Jessica FisherPomona against Redlands, February 9, 1965for my father and his fatherI.Even now my father whistles when he breathes through his nose.Before three-pointers and strict time limits on holdinghe was a great guard,  would  run the court  with his mouth  wagging open. She and her man loved to go to the gamesbut their boy was an embarrassment to her, sweating and  gaping even when  he was  standing  still, even  whenthe cameras turned to him. She'd wave till he looked her way,  then open and close her mouth  like a fish. For a fewminutes he'd remember, would clench his jaw shut though he didn't give a  damn how  he looked out there.II.They figured their father didn't give a damn about them, so why should they bother going to bury him? One  of the sevenlet go of it enough to make the drive, took a  handful  of dirt and let it drop. I don't know if  that changed itfor him or if it was just the right thing  to do. But I think  the old man cared: the last time  I saw  him he  showed mea photograph of his boys at that  game,  Dick  shooting,  John pulling down Dick's shorts. Or maybe it was the  otherway around. Whoever captured that was brilliant, that must have been  the way they  always were,  one having  321Fisher: Pomona Against Redlands, February 9, 1965Published by eGrove, 1998his moment, the other mocking  him. The old man  kept that  photo though he gave the rest  of it away, the love seatand crystal, the white scalloped dishes and all the food  left in the cupboards  and fridge after  she died,  the  hundredsof matchbooks. He wanted none of it, wanted to drink in a room of his  own, watned not to have to sayhe was going out for a long walk, didn't care for supper.But he wanted the photograph; that ought to count for some­thing.That ought to mean more than the years of bullshit he gave them, more than drinking away the inheritance, fucking  up so badtheir names fell out  of the Hollywood blue  book and got lost  in the white pages, back to back with everyone else in the Val­leywho was no one. That  photo made the old man  laugh,  he  remembered the night when the Fisher boys went up againstone another at Redlands and nobody  could stop the younger,  nobody could stop John-fourteen points to the lousiest shooter,hatchet man wearing his brother out, watching him to see if he'd rebound to the right or to the left of the basket, getting therein front of him, squaring off, putting him at his back  and holding him there. Making the  ball bounce.332Yalobusha Review, Vol. 4 [1998], Art. 31https://egrove.olemiss.edu/yr/vol4/iss1/31

Pomona Against Redlands, February 9, 1965

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Pomona Against Redlands, February 9, 1965

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