Unsaid | Ambrose William Seward

he carried it
like a winter pond
carries the cold

quiet
reflective
still

he didn’t say it
not directly

other people told us
your dad loves you

as if it was
common knowledge

as if it had
been said aloud
in spaces we couldn't enter

we had doubts
at times
but love was there

in his pause
before speaking
choosing care first
and words second

his eyes gave him away
the way they took measure
when we entered the house

so did his hands
they never hurried us
never struck
never forgot
what they were for

he came from a place
where men learned
to fill silence
with deeds

salt stiffened men
watching the tide
and weather
with full nets
and generous tables

they taught him
how to shoulder work
and still be gentle

how to build a life
that could hold others

he gave us chores
not as punishment
but his way of saying:

you belong here
you’re needed
you’re capable

coded lessons
from one generation
to the next

responsibility without complaint:

a way of being strong
that didn’t require explanation
kindness without expectation

ending something old
and passing on something better

not through words
but by example

years later
he worried aloud
that he hadn’t been
the father we needed

I heard that
not as doubt

but as care

still working
long after the job was done