^{photo by Sara Fasano}

Joseph Fasano is a poet, novelist, and songwriter.  His books include Fugue for Other Hands (2013), Inheritance (2014), Vincent (2015), The Crossing (2018), The Dark Heart of Every Wild Thing (2020), The Swallows of Lunetto (2022), The Magic Words (forthcoming, 2024), and The Last Song of the World (forthcoming, 2024).  His writing has been widely translated and anthologized, most recently in The Forward Book of Poetry (Faber and Faber).  His album of original songs, The Wind that Knows the Way, is available wherever music is streamed or sold.  He teaches at Manhattanville College, and he shares poetry and writing prompts daily on his social media platforms.

***

Teaching my son to swim

Maybe it was his blood in my veins
      that made me fight everything my father 
tried to teach me.  The right grip
      on the baseball bat; the words to say
to god; the way to wade, with reverence,
      slowly into someone else's life.
I could go on.  Words.  Deeds.  The way to say

our name.  
      Now, chest deep in the waters
of summer, I hold my little son's body
      across my forearms
and tell him listen, listen,
      he who does not know
I am only trying to give him a way

to leave me— this boy, this beautiful child
      with his nakedness, his honey-
colored eyes, this child I will hold like this
      for a few brief seasons in my arms
before I have to let go 
      of all of it, all of it:
 
a home, a soul, a body;
      a father trying to show 
how sweet it is to be held
      by anyone, anyone;
a son protesting, as they are made
      to do, for minutes, for hours, for years,
kicking and thrashing awhile

before he gets it.

***

After love

Now that you have lost
another version of you,
walk out through the new moon
in the spruces
and lie down in the deep leaves
of the clearing.
Listen: they are still here,
the wild things,
migrations moving on again from winter.
All your life
you heard a word
of the singing,
all your life
admitted just a bit of it;
all your life
you played your one 
small part.

Wake now. Stay here
with your parting
arms
and do it, finally
do it: open
to the whole of it, the whole of it,
the wind that sings
what's been since the beginning.
Listen.  Listen.  Listen.
There is no one
you're betraying
in your changes
when you become the whole wild song of what you are.

***

For the end, whenever it may come

All my life I heard a music
that almost carried me.

My mother's love
like cold sap in my branches.
My father's hush
as wild as foals, and strong.

From these
I made a little life
to give to you.

These
and this same soft voice
that wakens me:

Don't be afraid, Joseph.
The singing has to end
to be a song.

***

Publishing credits

Teaching my son to swim: Exclusive to East Ridge Review
After love: First published in FemAsia
For the end, whenever it may come: Exclusive to East Ridge Review