About eight hours ago I started trying to write a poem about my father in honor of what would have been his hundredth birthday tomorrow. I wanted it to be perfect and say all there is to say about this man who raised me alone when my mother died, who shaped so much about who I am and to whom I owe more than words could ever express. Eight hours later it finally occurred to me that I was attempting to do the impossible. Some things really are bigger than scanning for meter and checking for rhyme. I've written about Daddy before and I will write about him again, but today, the thoughts and feelings are just mine, not to share, not to fit into forms, not to worry about making into art. And so for today's poem I offer the lesson I've learned after hours of fretting - it really is OK to be at a loss for well-chosen words.

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