an old writer and his words

  • FORMAL PROOF

    First Proposition: You were put upfor adoption because your birthparents couldn’t or didn’t want to raise you. Second Proposition: We or I adopted youbecause I wanted you and not anotherand to give you the good life you deserved. Argument: Given all of the possiblealternatives, you ought to be thankfulthat we saved you from that other…

    Lou Faber

  • PRAYER

    We bow our headsand utter wordsnot to the cicadaspeaking througha spring nightor the beetlecrawling slowlyacross the leafsearching for the edge.We bid the crowsilent, the cat mewlinghis hunger and lustto crawl under a porchawaiting morning,the child to sleep.The stream flowsslowly by, carryinga blade of grassand the early fallen leaf. Published in The Raven’s Perch (August 3,…

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN, ONLY SLIGHTLY OUT OF REACH

    God is fixed in the firmamentseen as puppet master by somepatrician uncle, small childendlessly shifting blocksin new, transitory universes.All things recede from a point,have since the creationand that point, dimensionlessis God, vast and infinite.It swings lazily, back, fortha needle in its cusp tracinglines in the bed of sandin constant motion as weand earth, and all…

    Lou Faber

  • CENTER SEAT

    My friends have often wondered aloudwhy I claim to be most creative whenI am stuck on an airplane for hours. I have told them that the solitude,the lack of It is an interesting quirkof the internet, that birthand death are disconnected. Seeking out those born todayI found a long list, the dinosauramong which is Judy…

    Lou Faber

  • PARENTHOOD

    Two headstonesName, rank, branchof service, dates. One New Jersey, oneVirginia, both Bittleneither certain. An email fromanother Bittle, neverknew my father but his wasWilliam, and inthat moment, James Owen becamea father yet againand I complete. And later stilla single picturehe in the back row and the mirroragrees that weare truly family.

    Lou Faber

  • UNCLE

    My uncle writes his journalin cramped Yiddish, Englishwill not do, it lacks the wordshe says, to describe his world. He describes the flavorof the capon left to stewon the stove, the sweet tasteof carrots and prunes. He carefully notes the thumbof the butcher sliding ontothe back of the scale, applyingjust a dollar of pressure. He…

    Lou Faber

  • TICK TICK TICK

    He awoke this morning to discover his mortality. This was a concept he had never beforeconsidered, it had never crossed his mind. He had never been to a funeral, came froma small family, an only child, his parents and grandparents still living, not that heever saw them, he valued his solitude. But this morning, while…

    Lou Faber

  • CITIZEN OF . . .

    There was a time that nowseems so very long ago, when Iwould freely admit, sometimes claimto be American, if not acknowledgingmy time in the Air Force as well. Those days are gone, as is the placeI knew, now morphed into somewheremuch the same, and entirely unrecognizable,and I am American by proximity, knowingmy welcome has been…

    Lou Faber

  • PIXEL THIS

    I have it on good authority,supposedly, that the internetwill not he the death of me. I have my sincere doubts, andregardless, it has turned my worldon its head more than a bit. In high school and collegeI knew that a thick envelopewas an acceptance, a thin one a letter telling me this or thatIvy League…

    Lou Faber

  • REMEMBER THIS

    He awoke this morning, and wassurprised to be there, he said,because when you are ninety,and can’t get around at all,you don’t look forward to tomorrow,for it will simply be a repeatof today when nothing will happen.And it is harder still, he says,because he can’t remember much anymore,so it’s hard to say if todayis any different…

    Lou Faber