For Dad

January 25, 2009
By Clara Lewis, Everett, WA

I’d never known him in the years of hair on his head.
From him I grew and we watch each other grow.
My Limbs
and his belly.
My knowledge
and his wisdom.

A man with fuzzy vision and a 20/20 view of the world
is a spectacle.
Where I once saw through his eyes
I am now a pupil on my own.
But I remain the apple
and he retains the root.

Hands are always working, but fingers never point,
and palms are always open to give, or to take.
He builds
and supports.
He measures
and weighs.

The art of rationality, too seldom displayed in the museum of the world
is ever placed upon his pedestal.
And I look on, a witness
to the methods of this man.
Taking notes to which someday
I will refer.

The author's comments:
I wrote this piece in Creative Writing class after hearing multiple peers share aggressive and hateful work about their abusive or neglectful parents. I was overwhelmed at the idea that so many of my generation have well-grounded reasons to hate their mothers or fathers, and I was inspired to no longer take the love and respect I receive from my own father for granted.

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This article has 3 comments.


chels0528 said...
on Feb. 10 2009 at 5:37 pm
i really like this poem =] i enjoyed it.

mgonz113 said...
on Feb. 10 2009 at 5:50 am
This is cleverly written and a good read. i thoroughly enjoyed it.

anomalei said...
on Feb. 8 2009 at 3:45 pm
this is amazing. i know what you mean about the neglectful fathers; and i can relate to your poem here.

you really have a great understanding of language. i have no advice to you - just keep it up!




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