Sharon Olds - My Father's Diary lyrics

When I sit on the bed, and spring the bra** scarab legs of its locks, inside is the stacked, shy wealth of his print. He could not write in script, so the pages are sturdy with the beamwork of printedness, WENT TO LOOK AT A CAR, DAD IN A GOOD MOOD AT DINNER, LUNCH WITH MOM, TRIED OUT SOME RACQUETS – a life of ease, except when he spun his father's DeSoto on the ice, and a young tree whirled up to the hood, throwing up her arms – until LOIS. PLAYED TENNIS WITH LOIS, LUNCH WITH MOM AND LOIS, DRIVING WITH LOIS, LONG DRIVE WITH LOIS. And then, LOIS! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! SHE IS SO GOOD, SO SWEET, SO GENEROUS, I HAVE NEVER, WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO DESERVE SUCH A GIRL? Between the tines of his Ws, and liquid on the serifs, moonlight, the self of the grown boy pouring out, kneeling in pine-needle weave, worshipping her. It was my father good, it was my father grateful, it was my father dead, who had left me these small structures of his young brain – he wanted me to know him, he wanted someone to know him.