It had to do with
A book and the way
He would handle one,
The life
My father gave to me
After he came home
From the war
He never carried a gun
Again, he reached for
His firstborn
Child, a new beginning
In life and together
We spent time
On our front porch swing
Considering cars passing by
Our small town
And we read books
Carefully but deliberately
Evermore reassured, both
By plot and by purpose
My father turned
Each page as if
It took faith,
The way
I learned to read.