This poem by Sharon Olds comes from her amazing book, Satan Says.
Let me know what you think. It’s probably one of my favorite poems out there; I’ll never forget it.
I have learned to go back and walk around
and find the windows and doors. Outside
it is hot, the pines are black, the lake
laps. It is 1955 and I am
looking for my father.
I walk from a small room to a big one
through a doorway. The walls and floor are pine,
full of splinters.
I come upon him.
I can possess him like this, the funnies
rising and falling on his big stomach,
his big solid secret body
where he puts the bourbon.
He belongs to me forever like this,
the red plaid shirt, the baggy pants,
the long perfectly turned legs,
the soft padded hands folded across his body,
the hair dark as a burnt match,
the domed, round eyes closed,
the firm mouth. Sleeping it off
in the last summer the family was together.
I have learned to walk
so quietly into that summer
no one knows I am there. He rests
easy as a baby. Upstairs Continue reading “A Poem by Sharon Olds”