Father’s Day

Those Winter Sundays by 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?

 

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2 thoughts on “Father’s Day

  1. It seems that fathers are so undervalued. I had such a good father–in fact almost every male in my life, including my husband, my son, my brothers-in-law, etc., have been outstanding men. I get very upset by all the bumbling, stupid fathers portrayed on TV. Good men need to be honored not ridiculed.

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