Install this theme

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?)

  1. pewpewoozy reblogged this from learnfromthewintertrees
  2. alonetogetherfactfiction reblogged this from learnfromthewintertrees
  3. learnfromthewintertrees posted this