Dedicated to my Father, who sacrificed so much to provide for his family and make sure we could follow our own dreams. And who had to navigate taking care of two young motherless girls on his own for a year or two - Trials of how to clean a fresh ear piercing, how to answer our questions about our bodies, how to play dress up and paint nails, how to condition and brush knotted hair, all while waking up at 4 in the morning to commute into work at NASA in DC. No matter how tired he was or late he'd get home, he'd always have time to help us with our homework or to throw around a baseball. I have so much respect and love for this reserved man of faith that has taught me so many life lessons (and instilled in me a love for nature, taught me how to fish, raised me a tom-boy, and made sure I was raised to be thankful for everything I've been given!) Happy Father's Day!
Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden
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?
