The Response of Jackie Robinson
        from a photograph, circa 1947

Flashbulbs igniting, Jackie Robinson
strides home, the ball long gone. He touches home
and shakes another Dodger's outstretched hand
like Iwo Jima soldiers raised their flag:
in motion, nothing more than newsreel clips;
in bronze, heroic, unforgettable.

When bat met ball and Jackie launched toward first,
he ran like fever - "churning up the field
the way a swimmer churns up water" –
before the crowd's collective gasp made clear
the trip around the bags was his to take.
In graceful strides, he rounded second and third

then touched home plate with shadow, then with spikes.
He wears the uniform his team's white cleaners
wouldn't touch; wool jersey pressed instead
at colored cleaners or by his own wife,
who steamed out wrinkles, creases, and death-threats
made against her husband and young son.

Branch Rickey, Dodgers' owner, made him swear
for two years he would turn the other cheek
would not respond to taunts, raised spikes, or threats
We can't do this if you don't make it through;
young man, I'll test you:  can you stand the strain?
and hurled at Jackie every slur he knew.

Brooklyn's ballcap covers black hair graying
from hometown jeers, the crudely lettered notes,
the runners' slides for second, cleats kicked high,
his errors – "common weakness of his race"
his prowess – "instinctive animal grace."
He bows his head and runs in concentration:

When spikes drive at my thighs I won't fight back;
Reese, my southern shortstop makes them pay.
When they threaten my infant child I'll turn away
and trust the white police who guard my wife.
When they call me stupid, filthy nigger, I
will not respond. This is my deal with the Deacon.

Brooklyn, I will play so well that if you love your Dodgers
you must love me. America, I will play so well that you
cannot ignore me. I will turn two. I will steal second.
If you underestimate me, I will steal home.
I will play with ferocious excellence.
I will show you how a man can run
when you let him take the field.
You must shake my hand.

--©Jane Rigby

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