Those Winter Sundays
Feb. 3rd, 2013 08:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
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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?
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?
no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 02:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 03:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 03:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 04:13 pm (UTC)<3
no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 04:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-04 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-06 03:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-02-19 04:52 am (UTC)I'm pretty sure you're missing a couple line breaks, though: Should be a break after "No one ever thanked him." and "fearing the chronic angers of that house," so it's three stanzas, not one.
no subject
Date: 2013-03-30 10:47 pm (UTC)