MY FATHER WAS A SNOWMAN
My father was a snowman, but he melted.
All that’s left is his eyes—two pieces of coal—
that sit on my kitchen table
and watch me as I walk around the room.
I ate his big nose a long time ago.
[from, THE NEW YORKER, March 13, 1995]
Appreciated the Sparrow haiku-like his quote, “Bumper stickers are the haiku of the American highway.” I am preparing a presentation of Roberta Beary’s poetry so I found this helpful.
and that delicious mouth too!
coal black eyes
this poem reminds me
how much I love
From the welter of these I’ve read over the years and either not understood or cared about, THIS is a gem! An absolute jewel of possibilities, stories beyond stories. Thank you.