an old writer and his words

  • REAR VIEW MIND

    I spent too much time lookingbackward, looking into the past,looking into the mirrorto frame a dream historyof my desires and fears.He called one morning, lefta message, “Mother died,more details will follow.”A mother his by birth,mine by legal act.I should have felt stunnedanger, I said quietly to myselfhe’s cocky, has issues, and wentabout momentary mourning.That is…

    Lou Faber

  • THE FATES HAVE IT

    It was a chance meeting they thoughtalthough the Fates knew otherwise.Theirs was a subtly planned world,leave no fingerprints, always havean alibi, better still never get caught. It was a short meeting, a briefconversation and an ill-meantpromise to stay in touch, numbersexchanged and as soon forgotten. He never imagined calling,nor did she, but he did calland…

    Lou Faber

  • SIX FEET UNDER

    I remember the afternoonwas cold and damp, with a persistentdrizzle that escapedthe clustered umbrellas,the sky a blanket slowly sheddingthe water that soaked itas it sat out on the clothesline. I suspect you would haveliked it this way, everyone in attendance,everyone shuffling their feet,wanting to look skyward,knowing they would see onlya dome of black umbrella domes.…

    Lou Faber

  • A VISION

    He loved the simple irony of it all. His vision was failing in one eye, likely might in the other, from macular degeneration. There was a hole in his vision thanks to his macula and geographic atrophy. And being a man of words he knew the best way to describe that spot, that hole, was…

    Lou Faber

  • A WELL REHEARSED SILENCE

    Of course there is something I oughtto say, moments like this require it,it goes without saying, painfully. I practiced lines for hours, rehearsedin my dreams for weeks, knewfor years I’d be rendered mute. My tongue swells, threateningto escape my mouth or take refugedeep within my esophagus. Your silence is only compoundingmy anxiety, how can I,…

    Lou Faber

  • HERE-ISH, NOW-ISH

    In this moment we, the two of us,are here in this precise placeand there are an infinite numberof places we might be.But we want to be here,just here, nowhere else.We are aging, but in this momentwe are exactly the right ageand to be younger or olderwould do nothing for us.When I curl against youas the…

    Lou Faber

  • WORKSHOP

    Grace settles into the chair,less an act of sitting thanof floating down onto the seat.She has borrowed my grandmother’ssmile, kind, gentle, inviting.She pulls a book from her bag,its pages or most of themdog eared, and I glimpsesome annotations in the margins.We sit around her like childrenawaiting presents on a holiday,as acolytes seeking knowledgefrom a font…

    Lou Faber

  • STRANGE BEAUTY

    There is a strange beautyin the slow loss of sight,for there is a progressivetransition, a discoveryof much that went unheard,unfelt, missing in the glareof the need to see, to categorizeand organize, memoriesneatly arranged in an arrayof curated visual files. But without sight what oncewas cast aside as noise isan intricate tapestry of soundand undistracted, you…

    Lou Faber

  • ROAMING

    It is a sign of advancing ageor increasing love and passionthat I no longer imaginechucking it all and wanderingoff of some unplanned journey. Next flight out please, Idon’t care where it is going,so long as I have money leftfor food and some basic lodging,no baggage besides my carry on. Of course today that wouldland me…

    Lou Faber

  • IN MY BAG

    I carry my pastin a monk’s bagthat rests on my shoulder. In it you will findmy history, or bitsof it, names I havebeen given, given up,memories of childhood,pictures of my parentswho I never knew,aged in my mind fromthe photos in yearbooks,all that I have of them.. I still have roomin my bag, perhapsmore room than…

    Lou Faber