The gaps in the eighties where I wrote no poems, I did write. I developed my writing through keeping journals, writing letters, and working on novels I hoped to publish one day. This piece I wrote in a "open education" creative writing class. The assignment was to write a poem in a child's voice. I wrote of a day I spent with my father. I gave this poem to him many years later on Father's Day. I thought it would touch him as it had me. He read it and put it away saying nothing about it. He had another drink. It is still a poem dear to me. Many people have said it's good. It's enough that I know it is. I'm sure I'll write more poems about my dad whether he feels worthy of my love or not.
