the green fields beyond

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Location: Charles City, Virginia, United States

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Those Winter Sundays: Poetry Month Continues

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

--Robert Hayden, 1962

(As Mark Twain pointed out, our parents seem smarter, the older we get. Thanks, Dad.)

1 Comments:

said...

Thanks for the great poetry, Justin!
Jessica

12:16 PM  

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