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Comic
Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays”
A Visual Interpretation
January 8, 2020

sundays too my father got up early And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, Then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made Banked fires blaze No one ever thanked him I'd Wake up and hear the cold splintering breaking When the rooms were warm, he'd call, and slowly I would rise and dress Fearing the chronic angers of that house, speaking indifferently to him Who had driven out the cold And polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know. Of love's austere and lonely offices?

[.smalltext] From Julian Peters’s upcoming collection Poems to See By (Plough, 2020).[.smalltext]

[.smalltext] Robert Hayden, “Those Winter Sundays,” from Collected Poems of Robert Hayden , edited by Frederick Glaysher (New York: Liveright, 1985). Copyright © 1966 by Robert Hayden. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.[.smalltext]

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