There are several things I like about Joyce Sutphen’s poem. I like, for instance, the shared memory of her father, as it calls to mind similar memories of my own. Like how my dad would set us up at a table in the lodge, when we were taking a lunch break from skiing, make sure we were all...

Robert Hayden’s “Those Winter Sundays” resonates with the remembrance of ungrateful youth. All the boy could recognize is that he had to get up early, probably to go to Church when he didn’t want to, fearful of angering his father, sullen because of that fear and the ache of not being...