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The Weight of a Father

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I. The Smell of Sawdust

On bawling-brother, busy-mother days,
The saint who slew the dragons in her dream
Whisked her through the fuss-and-fluster maze
To realms where fathers shine and daughters beam.
She watched the magic hands that hugged her tight
At one with wood. He sawed and shaped until
His wizard skill—his mastery and might
For crafting beauty sparked her steely will
To seek the dazzle in the drear of now,
To find the marvel in the mournful week,
To conjure fun; her hero showed her how
To buckle down and blaze on through the bleak.
These dad-less days she draws upon his gift—
One sniff of sawdust gives her world a lift.

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II. A Taste of Home

He lives a deep and seething sea away
With rafts of moons between the rift and now.
His daughter’s raven hair is granite gray.
His grasp is weak. His grudges crease his brow.
She knows he’ll never soften and set sail
On waves she’s braved to reach his hardened heart.
To meet halfway is fortune set to fail
When livid skies keep smarting souls apart.
On chilly nights when sorrow drowns in sleep,
Her wishes swirl and surface in a dream…
He smiles at her, his boldest, blackest sheep
Leaping through the Kentish leas of green;
The ocean shrinks to puddle-jumping size
As tides of joy rise in her father’s eyes.

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Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.

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4 Responses

  1. Mark Stellinga

    No ‘favorite’ today, Susan – both, as expected, are SJB-wonderful! Watching high school kids play football & baseball are just two of my many ‘father-remembering’-inducers. Seeing him cheering for me in the bleachers hasn’t faded in the least and never will. How inspiring so much of your work is. Thanks for these 2 timely gems –

    Reply
  2. Roy Eugene Peterson

    My dad’s hobby was woodworking with which your nostalgic evocative poem brought back the feel of finely sanded wood and smells of sawdust from various wood species. This was perfect for Father’s Day. Then the wishing to “puddle-jump” over the “seething sea” and once again see smiles and to know how much one means to their father is so heartwarming and endearing.

    Reply
  3. Warren Bonham

    I had the same experience as Roy with a father who loved working with wood. He typically used a set of tools given to him by his father. None of them plugged into an electrical outlet. As a result, there was a good deal more sweat than there needed to be. I always enjoyed “helping” him but was never able to cut a straight line with a handsaw or bang in a nail without bending it over. Somehow, despite these challenges, the projects always turned out perfectly. The smell of sawdust still brings back this gift.

    Reply
  4. Isabella

    These two poems are absolutely beautiful. The collective title is perfect, and both poems are a lovely nostalgic tribute on father’s day.

    Reply

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