learn from the winter trees

Feb 13

quote

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

My Papa’s Waltz by THEODORE ROETHKE.

I still think it’s fascinating how younger audiences tend to draw the line between alcoholism and abuse and have a bleak interpretation of this poem while older audiences tend only to see a fond relationship between a working class father and son.

I’m still fascinated because I’ve no idea who’s right. (Both?)

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