Dear Dad,

September 8th, 2008 is a day I will not forget. I think of you everyday dad. I hope you and mom are getting along in heaven. This is a poem I know you read, I am sharing it today in an effort to touch your spirit, and to let you know your spirit lives in me.

Adams Street

Two men in warm thermal sweaters with hoods

Caper along planks fixed atop a stage of scaffolding

Bright Brooklyn October Sun rises, shines, and is

Absorbed by thirty pound black felt roofing paper.

A tape- measure razor thin is stretched between

Held in hands darkened by pitch dust

That gets between every skin cell.

How I remember your hands holding a stick rule

As you made deep gouges in soft black membrane

Glowing blacker soaking in all the sun it could.

I held one end of heavy cord full of yellow chalk

We pulled tightly while you tugged smartly snapping

Long straight parallels.

It was crisp, cool, and autumn. Good working weather.

I thought of you, of us together, when I saw hooded workmen

High above Adams Street getting set to strike lines

And begin starter courses of slate or tile.

I know we would have had more patience with each other

If we knew then what we know now,

But I am grateful for everyday you could still hear me say

“I Love You, Dad.”

Because

Love fueled our anger for so long

And we both know what it is

To be angry young men

Hammering away in sunshine.