an old writer and his words

  • THE FROG

    I can still smell the formaldahyde,see the frog pithed to the boardas I went about dissecting it,taking copious notes on whatI found, identifying organs,both of us hidden in a cornerof our fourth grade classroomso the other students didn’tfeel like they had to vomit. This Yom Kippur, even thoughI no longer practice the faithof my youth…

    Lou Faber

  • STAGED

    At the moment of your birthmy son, I grew suddenly older,mortality became a realitythat I could no longer avoid. You could not imagine this,and I doubt others could seebut I knew and the infinitecollapsed inside the event horizon. Your brother came later, butthat death was incremental,a single cut among thousands,a step on a path you…

    Lou Faber

  • DINNER PARTY

    Technology has effectivelydestroyed the intimatedinner parties that oncewere the core of a social life. You fretted over whetherthe souffle would collapse,if the wine was chilledto the right temperature,if the entree was back timedsufficiently to allow timefor the hors d’oeuvresand if the guests wouldarrive at the scheduled time. Now it is a fear that Grubhubor Doordash…

    Lou Faber

  • A SMALL REQUEST

    If those in the campsknowing their fate,the inevitabilityof their impending deathcould call up music,for orchestras, playor sing withtheir final breaths, is it too muchtheir ghosts silentlyask, for youto pause andremember us,and singa dirgefor our souls.

    Lou Faber

  • HEY TEACH

    She is long departed I imagine,and she would have had nomemory of me given the numberwho passed through her roomin the decades she stood impartingthe sort of knowledge that wassomehow tucked away, notforgotten, for it bubbled forthyears later, the aha moment. I could not forget her, whyperhaps she was a key to my passwords, the firstquestion…

    Lou Faber

  • A PERFECT STILLNESS

    You lie there, perfectly still,the morning breeze slides awayleaving the sun to stare down,and the birds fall into silence.  I gently touch the stone, feelyour cheek beneath my finger,see your face, the college yearbookphoto all that I have of you.  I speak silently to you, tellingof my sixty-seven years, of yourgrandsons and great grandchildrenand I…

    Lou Faber

  • FRUITED PLAINS

    As I was cutting up our breakfastfruit this morning, the name Lynette“Squeaky” Fromme came to mind. I would have thought it would beCesar Chavez, given half the fruitwas from California, and I had no thoughtof Gerald Ford or any Republican President,never before at least one full cup of coffeeand generally not even then, but there…

    Lou Faber

  • “Geography”

    People of the mountainare quiet, some say taciturnpreferring to listen for the cryof the eagle, wind whistlingits familiar tune through a passsnow rent from the facetearing down in a crystalline cloud. People of the shoremerge with the songof the waves, feel its tempopunctuated by the barkof the whale, the hornanchored in the harbor,the tavern disgorgingits…

    Lou Faber

  • SOCKING MEMORY

    It appears unexpectedlylike a sock from behind the dryerlong after its matehas been discarded or converted to rag.You have looked for itever since it went missingand knowing the way of socksand their hiding placesthe dryer was one of the firstplaces you looked for it.Memories are much like socksnow and again running offand hiding, leaving half…

    Lou Faber

  • EMPTY SACKS WILL NEVER STAND UPRIGHT

    There are nightswhen the songof a single cricketcan pull you away from sleep.She says that she has heardthat not all Angels have wingsand neither of themis sure how you would knowif you met a bodhisattva.He searches the mailevery day, for a letterfrom unknown birth parentsbut none of the credit cardshe ought to carryoffers to rebate…

    Lou Faber