Father Writes a Letter

Most Honored Herr Professor,
wrote my father, in German,
to his former teacher,
who had escaped to London.
It is March of 1939.
Father, Mother, and my infant self
had fled Vienna
for northern Italy. Decades later
this letter is in my hands. I recognize
my father's elegant European script,
struggle to decipher it and translate.
I write in the hope that
you can perhaps be helpful.
Reading these hand written words
for the first time
I am suddenly in the moment
of Father's desperation,
the effort of his polite restraint.
Filling the professor in
on his employment history
my father writes, I had to give up
the last two positions since I am
half Aryan [read half Jewish].
I am married, have a nine-month-old child
and hope from here on in
to have the possibility
of a new life. But the professor
could not help. His typed response
dated two months later
I have no trouble translating.

From Connecticut River Review, 2018. Copyright © 2018 by Felice Aull.
​All rights reserved.




 

On the Staircase

The first time I said yes to him
it was unspoken, just a nod
and he couldn't see my face.
He was a step above me
on the narrow metal staircase,
addressing the back of my head.
We teens were pouring down
to get to class, the bell  
dislodging us from lunch.
For weeks I'd seen him eyeing me
as I strode past him to buy soup.
I liked that he was watching.  

That day, he followed behind
gathering courage – as he told me
later – but only enough
to ask without looking.
And I, in a moony daze,
signaled yes, not missing a step,
not needing to see his face.

From Literature Today, vol. 5, 2016 
​Copyright © 2016 by Felice Aull.
​All rights reserved. 

What's Left

You died
your collections
are mine alone now
CDs by the hundreds
Bach and Beatles Pavarotti
and Armstrong Wagner Cole Porter
you took me to my first opera
live performance Tosca
lying on her stomach singing
gave me goose bumps
your books fill the shelves
alongside mine
I like to see them there
but won't read them
our tastes not the same
two Bose players
set for classical music that
I don't know how to change not that I want to
but I've learned to replace the printer ink
record television programs
series or individual
still afraid to stream afraid
to disturb what works
DVDs I watch at night as we used to
you in your recliner chair
telephone with caller ID
your voice I won't delete
from the answering machine
Wi-Fi Internet
you arranged all that
if they fail I'm lost
for the second time

From Months to Years, Summer 2018 
​Copyright © 2018 by Felice Aull.
​All rights reserved.
​