an old writer and his words

  • NOT THOSE AGAIN

    Mother always bought Hydrox cookiesand I thought nothing of it, althoughI did wonder why my friends said thatkind of cookie was best dipped in milk.I dipped our Hydrox in milk and theyfell apart, a soggy mess and not quitea chocolate milk that anyone would drink.It was years later I learned thatthere was another brand which…

    Lou Faber

  • EASTER

    Tomorrow is Easter Sunday and Iam certain that neither of my mothers,one who had me, one who adopted me,will rise from their respective graves,with Jesus, all three Jewish.But resurrection is not a taskgiven over to women, the Bible says,with its always careful division of labor.And I will stop and think of the Judasin my life,…

    Lou Faber

  • HER REALM

    The child carefully packsthe sand into the red bucketand dreams of the castle sheis building, the one in whichshe can be the princess.Her parents know the tidewill soon carry her castle awayand with it her dream, but theydo not stop and wonder whylittle girls always dream of beingprincesses and never queens,for mothers of little girlsare…

    Lou Faber

  • AFTER THE UNVEILING

    I threw the first shovelof dirt on your wooden coffin. I expected you to protestthe sullying of the polished wood, or to call out for your mother,or introduce us to your long dead husband,but all we heard was the thunk and chunkof the clayey earth dancing off the cover,while you maintained silence. First published in…

    Lou Faber

  • ONCE TOO MANY

    He remembered his mother taking him to the opera once. It was an experience he hoped never to repeat in life and, man y years on, he had been successful in not doing so again. The opera was sung in English but he felt that only made it worse, for if was was sung in…

    Lou Faber

  • BENEDICTION

    This is the benedictionI was never given the opportunityto offer, the blessing of a childfor his parents, those who are woveninto his genes, those that cannotbe denied, those without whomthere could be no thought of benediction.I bless the mother who carried meand handed me to the adoption agencyfearing she could not offer methe life she…

    Lou Faber

  • A TROIS

    Each night I crawl under the sheetscurled against the woman I loveand beside me slips your ghost.For sixty years you were no morethan a fleeting dream faceless, nameless,an infrequent visitor to my galleryof hopes, desires, and wishes.You never had a face, did Ihave one you could remember beforeI was plucked from you too soon, youlurking…

    Lou Faber

  • IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE

    In my mother’s housethe refrigerator was dottedby little plastic fruitand the phone numberof a plumber we had once used,my sisters latest drawingpresaging a careerin health service managementa shopping listand my brother’s report cardshowing exemplary effortbut a weakness in spellingand my upcoming appointmentat the orthodontist. In my housethe refrigerator is dottedwith little wordsfrom Shakespeareand Chaucerand those…

    Lou Faber

  • CONSOLATION PRIZE

    I do not remember the faceof the nurse who carried meaway from you the daythe door to an alien worldwas thrown open for me.Did either of you look closelyor did I become one moremoved slowly downthe obstetric conveyor.I would have liked somelink to my birth, somethingmore than the naked assurancethat it happened and thatthere was…

    Lou Faber

  • BONDS

    When she asks me if I remember whenI lost my virginity I have to stopand consider the question beforethe obvious answer appears and I say“according to my birth certificate, Ilost my virginity at 11:31 P,Mat the Washington Children;sMedical Center more than sevendecades ago, although I haveto admit I have no recollectionof the event, nor the…

    Lou Faber