I have always wanted to write a poem for my father,

but have been unable to decide on a topic.

Should I write about his stern face, his ever-furrowed brow?

Should I write about the lessons he gave my brother and I

under the relentless sun?

Should I write about how his childhood came to a halt

when his mother’s eyes flickered out?

or when tears stained his face when I was born?

It is difficult to write a poem about someone

when you have only gleamed from a few pages.

I could fill the holes, gaps, and notches

with my imagination, clichés, and expectation.

It wouldn’t be a poem for my father.

It would be a poem for an image, a symbol,

No, this is it.

This is the poem for my father.