A Poem for Fathers’ 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?


“Those Winter Sundays” from Collected Poems of Robert Hayden, © 1966 by Robert Hayden – Liveright Publishing


Robert Hayden (1913-1980)

American poet, essayist and educator.
The first African-American Consultant in Poetry
to the Library of Congress (1976-1978)

 

For more on Robert Hayden, click

Word Cloud: BELLTONGUE

https://flowersforsocrates.com/2016/02/19/word-cloud-belltongue/

and

WORD CLOUD: DREAM

https://flowersforsocrates.com/2018/02/02/word-cloud-dream/

About wordcloud9

Nona Blyth Cloud has lived and worked in the Los Angeles area for the past 45 years, spending much of that time commuting on the 405 Freeway. After Hollywood failed to appreciate her genius for acting and directing, she began a second career managing non-profits, from which she has retired. Nona has now resumed writing whatever comes into her head, instead of reports and pleas for funding. She lives in a small house overrun by books with her wonderful husband and a bewildered Border Collie.
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