For Dad (a poem)

I wrote this piece/poem/thing a couple of months before my father died (five years ago now). I never shared it with him. I thought about reading it at his funeral but soon realized that would be too difficult, so I shared it with people in the print program instead. I don’t think I have shared it online before, but I thought I would today.

Dad,
it’s okay
that you won’t be alive
for my wedding day –
if I have a wedding day.
Our father/daughter dance
is deeper than
a spin on the floor
to some overused country song.

It’s okay.
Your strength’s never been
measured by how you
could clench your hand
into a fist anyway.

And Dad,
it’s fine if you’re upset.
Of course the man who
used to climb radio towers
in East Coast storms
feels powerless
when he can’t walk
by himself.

But Dad,
I’m done being mad
because who am I
to mourn a man who still thrives
in his heart and in his mind?

I find
it hard to believe
dumping cold water over
my head will change anything,
but I’ll do it anyway.
I’d do it every day
if it would make you see
the strength you give me
has nothing to do
with your body.