Sunday, June 17, 2012

Happy Father's Day

Those Winter Sundays
      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?

Great Grandfathers

John Walsh
Stephen Slade
Joe Rucker
Walter Davis

Walter Davis


Orvin Davis
Fred Slade


Fred Slade Jr.


©2014, Wendy Mathias.  All rights reserved.


  1. I love the poem and pictures!

    Thanks for sharing your family with us.

  2. I forgot to say anything about Daddy on facebook this year! =( Glad you did such a nice post here.

    1. HA - I didn't even think of it until Saturday night. We were at the lake, and I have NO pictures on the laptop, so I had to copy already-been-used pictures from my blog. Sheesh ~