my papa's waltz
the whiskey on your breath
could make a small boy dizzy;
but I hung on like death:
such waltzing was not easy.
we romped until the pans
slid from the kitchen shelf;
my mother's countenance
could not unfrown itself.
the hand that held my wrist
was battered on one knuckle;
at every step you missed
my right ear scraped a buckle.
you beat time on my head
with a palm caked hard by dirt;
then waltzed me off to bed
still clinging to your shirt.
theodore roethke
One of my favorite pieces.
Perhaps it is the lighthearted rhythm of the iambic quatrains that first deceives the reader of the subtle nuances within the content itself, or the innocent dependence of a child towards a father with slight malicious intentions and a destructive love.
Dear visitor: take a moment and reread this poem; the original playful imagery warps itself into a wistful childhood memory buried underneath a darker revelation.
I first read this poem in high school during a literature class and it has struck me ever since.
