Those Winter Sundays - For my children when you start to think for your selves, and not from her or them.
Dublin Core
Title
Those Winter Sundays - For my children when you start to think for your selves, and not from her or them.
Description
Those Winter Sundays -- 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?
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?
Collection
Citation
“Those Winter Sundays - For my children when you start to think for your selves, and not from her or them.,” Lawrence Catania's Omeka, accessed November 21, 2024, https://omeka.lawrencecatania.com/items/show/1848.