Dear Dad
by Julie Chappell


I still can see
the ice cold crystals of winter storms
swirling around the glass bottles
our treat
for being born to you
who never grew too old
for soda chilled in snow
or hot dogs roasted on the fire
or sledding dangerously, joyously
down the highest hill.

I still can see
you – long dead now –
blue eyes as clear to me
as when I saw them
lit up at the pleasures
of your children
drinking half-frozen bottles of soda
eating blackened hot dogs
screaming at the thrill
of another sled ride with you
even if now
only in our memories and dreams.






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