Gloves

My dad bought me one.
My brother gave me the other.
I cherished these two.
Not for ascetic beauty,
or that they were intricate to my life.
But because they meant a lot to me.
Time elapsed around the simple act.
My dad teaching me, my brother helping me.
I can re buy a new one,
yet it would not be the same.
I have had them since high school,
and have spent incalculable time
of use with them.

Of all things that were lost,
these are some of the hardest for me.
I will miss the moments of connection.
The moments of enjoyment, even the back pain that was sure to follow.
The smell of leather and dirt, the feel of wear from years of use.

Almost as if part my childhood, adolescence and adulthood are now lost to me.
Times of one on one. Times of teams. Times of fun. Times less than fun.
They reminded me of mouthfuls of seeds, and spitting, rally caps, the smell of fresh cut grass, using cleats as a shovel, and inspiration.
All of which have impacted me in someway.
It will be different when the three us throw around now in something new.