My father is a bear, a bookish bear,
Who was much younger, years ago, than I
(not "me," since "to be" is intransitive).

He looks out from photos by the stair
In the Vermont house, where he lives:
A baby boy poses in a dress!
A Yankee Achilles smiles by his canvas tent.

My father's craft steadily improves
As he works on the house.
One kitchen-ceiling corner may be awry,
But the opposite side is done with finesse.
And all of the rooms are filled with shelves of books.

He curls up on the couch by firelight,
Reading a book, in the still Vermont night.

Christopher Brooks, March 2004