You’re painting in the kitchen
as John Denver sings his misty, old love songs
while by the shed
spring flowers burst into red and purple and white,
as the March sun rises and grief declines
to memory.
So here I write, our dogs
nuzzled close and warm
and contented.
Bathe me in light, with warm
water wash, submerge
my submissive head,
my face, my hands,
my wayfaring feet.
Oh, cleanse me!
prepare me
to walk
into your perfect
day.
Brian Federle, Born March 4, 1986
Spring
Seven years after my father died
my first child, my son, was born in spring,
and in the gleaming, sterile room
I first held him in my arms
as, with his impossibly wide, blue eyes
he calmly gazed right into my raw soul,
and I felt in a sudden rush of warmth,
a timeless love
and at last discovered
the reason for my life.
It was then
I understood my father.
In my son’s face I saw my own
and felt my father’s eyes gazing
in warm wonder on me
and I glowed with
unconditional love for my son.
devastating velocity,
blood thirsty, fresh death-
dealing NRA
lies fly super-
sonic flesh thud-
ing ragged rounds
slamming into
stunned souls,
dreams
die.
since you’ve been gone the days
are silent
except for the rush of wind
in our apple tree.
See how the fruit hangs
heavy, pulling low
the branches;
ready.
so I’ll wait in the shade
of soft July
and think
of you.
Morning fog
caressed
my winter tears
as unseen geese
(noisy gaggle)
crossed the opaque sky.
Things well hidden
confuse
my fragile faith,
so when bright, piercing rays
broke through
this lonely vale of tears
I thought it was only the sun
not the golden light,
desire of my fleeting years.
Across the fading valley
The silver bay shines,
effulgent edge
under twilight hills.
Confined
flat waters
cut a thin line
beneath dark heights.
Saw-toothed ridges
rip thin clouds
to ragged shreds —
the plunging sun ignites
the resplendent light
of love
for this sad, winter world.
Photo Brian Federle, Hawaii, 2016
Spring fills this dry land
With life, yet
I cannot see your face
or embrace you with a father’s love
as I did when last you filled our lives
with your easy laughter
and beautiful eyes.
Shall I speak to you, tell how
small birds gather
in the budding apple tree
hungry no more,
filled with joy?
I cry out to you
and the startled birds
fall into silence,
Let me tell you, then,
Of my new life without you.
Deep in my side I feel endless pain
where my heart once beat;
now I merely breathe
emptiness.
My son, oh, where have you gone?
Call to me from the brilliant heights,
for deep in darkness I lie
crying to see you just
one more
time.
(for Brian Federle, 3/4/86 – 3/25/17)
The goodness of March,
rain, strong winds,
buds swelling —
the everyday
resurrection.
The tree
we planted last year
on the first anniversary
of your passing
is blooming,
its small, pink bursts
quietly exploding
in the green glow
after the storm.
I smile to see it —
thin, wavering limbs
climbing to the sky, defiant
in the March wind.
Are you smiling too?
I know you stroll
beyond Andromeda
gazing on Magellanic Clouds,
but I cannot see that far.
I am stardust
to Earth-fallen.
Yet I seek you in the autumn rain,
hear you singing in the evening wind.
Your breath fills my empty lungs,
your smile lights
my darkened eyes,
and my heart overflows
with your sacred blood —
love spilling,
Earth-fulfilling.
poems 