ice cream on the other side

my father, with his muscled
shoulders
and tan,
his blonde hair a mass
of unkempt
curls,
and steel blue eyes,
would put us all
in a wooden
boat to row across cape
cod bay.
I keep a picture of him,
in black and white,
of him standing
in the puddled boat,
smiling broadly
with his
five children
that would so easily drown
if the boat
capsized.
I remember the clank of
oars, his deep
breaths, pulling us across
the blue,
as my mother stood on
the shore, feet clenching
the sand, her hand on her mouth.
he promised us ice cream
on the other side.
that's how he lived
his life,
putting all at risk for
a promise
he couldn't keep, but
would often try.