Alice Walker - Poem at Thirty-Nine lyrics

How i miss my father. I wish he had not been so tired when i was born Writing deposit slips and checks i think of him. He taught me how. This is the form, he must have said: the way it is done. I learned to see bits of paper as a way to escape the life he knew and even in high school had a savings account. He taught me that telling the truth did not always mean a beating; though many of my truths must have grieved him before the end. How I miss my father! He cooked like a person dancing in a yoga meditation and craved the voluptuous sharing of good food. Now I look and cook just like him: my brain light; tossing this and that into the pot; seasoning none of my life the same way twice; happy to feed whoever strays my way. He would have grown to admire the women I've become: cooking, writing, chopping wood, staring into the fire.