The Ball Poem

The Dispossessed (1948)

What is the boy now, who has lost his ball,What, what is he to do?  I saw it goMerrily bouncing, down the street, and thenMerrily overÑthere it is in the water!No use to say ‘O there are other balls’:An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boyAs he stands rigid, trembling, staring downAll his young days into the harbour whereHis ball went.  I would not intrude on him,A dime, another ball, is worthless.  NowHe senses first responsibilityIn a world of possessions.  People will take balls,Balls will be lost always, little boy,And no one buys a ball back.  Money is external.He is learning, well behind his desperate eyes,The epistemology of loss, how to stand upKnowing what every man must one day knowAnd most know many days, how to stand upAnd gradually light returns to the streetA whistle blows, the ball is out of sight,Soon part of me will explore the deep and darkFloor of the harbour . . I am everywhere,I suffer and move, my mind and my heart moveWith all that move me, under the water

The Dispossessed (1948)