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Photo by Gail Harvey, no reproduction without permission
Our Fathers A father is a very complex thing for a woman.
His powers shape her
And whether he is up to this daunting task
Remains to be seen till the funeral day
And how she responds to his absolute going away
Says it all.
And every love situation she finds herself in will
Echo this yearning, whether she is typical or a three dollar bill.
He may be away some days or nights
Or perhaps he is one of those whose sorrows make him absent
So away it would be better if he were a salesman with a suitcase
Really away, not just away right there in the chair…
This is the demand of being father: be here, I remember pulling on you
Wishing you back into the world.
You stood up for me at Christmas dinner at last: winking over egg rolls, knowing what had not been said.
Bacon bringer in some homes, and others not: father.
In too many homes he is a shadow
In his own house unwelcomed, cordoned off: he may have elected to feel this way, or not.
But he is one thing, for sure: responsible
And if he chooses to, can have the power of Zeus in her heart
Till she herself lies down to rest so much later on.
--Marnie Woodrow [c] 2010
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