I’ve loved this poem since the first time I read it. I don’t remember when that was, exactly, but it was before I knew that Roethke grew up in the same town as my dad. He still lives there (my dad; not Roethke), and because it’s between Dad’s house and Meijer’s, we drive past Roethke Park every time we’re there. But I’ve never been to the park or to the Roethke House.

Anyway, this poem moved me even before I knew of that geographical connection. Its rhythm and that “palm caked hard by dirt” and the “countenance” that “could not unfrown itself” just get me every time.

My Papa’s Waltz
by Theodore Roethke

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.