an old writer and his words

  • IN THE PROPER ORDER

    You would think that when you have hadthree fathers they would have hadthe decency to die in the order in whichthey came into your life, that is, after all,the natural order of things or the logical one.My original, who I found more than two decadesafter he finally found peace in 1987 is nothingmore that an…

    Lou Faber

  • STILL WAITING

    Just to let you know, I still look for youeven though I know it is not at alllikely that I will find you wandering about,after all, Florida is quite some distancefrom Beverly, New Jersey and youdon’t get out much these days.Still I look, not certain if you willbe wearing your uniform ofjust civvies, but I…

    Lou Faber

  • REMEMBERING CHILDHOOD

    There isn’t much to write about,not much recalled, now brief glimpseslike aged photographs, black and whiteor color but so time faded they bleednow into sepia, fragments, his face herehers never appearing as if she, not satisfiedwith how she looked, purged my memory.It may be a factor of age, but there areother contemporaneous moments stillin clear…

    Lou Faber

  • THIS IS NOT

    This is not the poemmy birth mother meant to writemeant to tuck in my blanketwhen I was handed overto the adoption agencymeant to follow methrough childhood, youth,adulthood, to be readon the day my sons were born.It would be a poemthat would be etcheddeeply into my psychethat would echo in my mindduring the quiet moments.She never…

    Lou Faber

  • HAGAR’S SON

    Did you so fear being Hagarthat you deemed me Esau, stolemy birthright, my name, my pastand cast me off into a wilderness?I knew nothing of this, your secrettaken with you to the grave as you wished.Did you consider that I might beIshmael, never knowing my father,adopted into a culture that wouldnever be mine, a child…

    Lou Faber

  • READING PAUL MULDOON

    Reading Paul Muldoon this afternoonI thought of you for no reason.It wasn’t your birthday, notthat you celebrate them where you are,nor the anniversary of the day you died.And it certainly was not becauseI was reading about Ireland sinceI never imagined I had Irish blood, andyou never went there, and when I didI didn’t know you…

    Lou Faber

  • GONE STILL

    Gone21 yearsstill lookingas you did81 years agoin the Morris HarveyCollege yearbookand that is how,and only how,you will everlook to memother. Thatand the tombstoneon which I criedthree years agowhen we metfor the first time.

    Lou Faber

  • SISTER

    I can picture her sittingin her small apartmentholding a cup of tea.This is Parma, or perhaps,Milan, two of the threecities I visited in Italy.Her hair is long, grayand white, her smile pained.She does not know I existbut we share so much,a father we never metfirst and foremost.We will never meet,for she, too, may be dead…

    Lou Faber

  • MISSED MEETING

    On Saturday it will be21 years since I missedthe last chance to meet my mother.If this seems strange to youimagine how it is for me, how itit is to have your mother dieat 82 and you now 70saying you never got to meet.You’ve guessed correctly that Iam an adoptee, but did you knowI waited so…

    Lou Faber

  • A VISIT

    I used to say that my birth parents,both dead before I could give them names,her youthful face from yearbooks,come to me now in my dreams.Of course that isn’t true, theydid not come to me in my dreamsdespite my hollow invitationsso I went to them, for they no longertravel very much, preferring to stayin their well-maintained…

    Lou Faber