punkadixon

Okay okay okay. So anyone who has taken an english class in college has probably read this poem, but thats okay because it is the best. yes. ever.

I have some serious dad issues, and as I dig into this one I get all teary eyed. Ah, the broken family, and how we try with our rubberbands and glue...

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback 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