Poem of the Week: “Love Letters from my Father” by Yusef Komunyakaa

On Fridays he’d open a can of Jax 
After coming home from the mill, 
& ask me to write a letter to my mother 
Who sent postcards of desert flowers 
Taller than men. He would beg, 
Promising to never beat her 
Again. Somehow I was happy 
She had gone, & sometimes wanted 
To slip in a reminder, how Mary Lou 
Williams’ “Polka Dots & Moonbeams” 
Never made the swelling go down. 
His carpenter’s apron always bulged 
With old nails, a claw hammer 
Looped at his side & extension cords 
Coiled around his feet. 
Words rolled from under the pressure 
Of my ballpoint: Love, 
Baby, Honey, Please. 
We sat in the quiet brutality 
Of voltage meters & pipe threaders, 
Lost between sentences … 
The gleam of a five-pound wedge 
On the concrete floor 
Pulled a sunset 
Through the doorway of his toolshed. 
I wondered if she laughed 
& held them over a gas burner. 
My father could only sign 
His name, but he’d look at blueprints 
& say how many bricks 
Formed each wall. This man, 
Who stole roses & hyacinth 
For his yard, would stand there 
With eyes closed & fists balled, 
Laboring over a simple word, almost 
Redeemed by what he tried to say.