an old writer and his words

  • ONLY ONE LEFT FOOT AFTER ALL

    We took private dance lessons,she already versed in the dance,a natural grace and flow, and Imoving with seemingly fused hips,unsteady, bordering on clumsy. As we went on, it began to cometo me, never graceful, but no longerembarassing to myself nor her,and the teacher said I could bea natural, a kind and gentle lie. At our…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • SAYING AND SAYING AND SAYING

    At least once again this morningsome talking head commentatortold me that it goes without sayingand then said whatever it wasthat went without sayingfor ten minutes, twice repeatingthe thing that went without saying. I trust he will become awarethat he and his ideas will,henceforth, go without seeingby me and hopefully others.But I guess that last commentwould…

    Lou Faber

  • SIN

    A poet suggested that sinwas created by the Christians,wrong, of course, but perhapsjust being politically correctin not naming the Jews asits creator, or at leastgiving it a name and rulebook. And on the point of accuracythe poet might have notedthat the Jews createdthe Christians, for Jesuswas one of them, a reformerbefore Judaism would allowanything beyond…

    Lou Faber

  • MORNING SKY

    The morning skymaculate with tiny cloudsscattered about the endless blue,denied the promised rain. The wind grew angryhaving nothing to propelthrough the azure emptinessand rifled the trees seeking music. There is nothing to knowon such mornings, no languageneeded or permitted, there is onlythe sky awaiting the sun’s arrival. We are invited to watch,asked to gaze deeply…

    Lou Faber

  • IT IS TIME

    It is time they said, but they never said what it was time for, although they seem to know. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere, confined to this chair, a quadriplegic. He was the chair really as he had no way of moving it. He had no way of moving anything except by putting…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

    My history is like an ill-sewn quilt, odd piecesof parents stitched looselytogether, always ready to comeapart, fade or be thrown away. Perhaps my history ismore like a belovedold pair of jeans, holesappear and are patched,patches wear out and arereplaced, or the hole isjust left, as if it weresomehow a fashion statement. There is little normalwhen…

    Lou Faber

  • DROWNING

    Stop and breathe, deeply,don’t look at the smog,at the particles hangingin your air like a curtain. Don’t pause to considerwhat you are inhaling, don’tpicture your alveoli cloggedwith what you can now see. You are drowning slowly ina sea of air, so imagine yourselfa fish struggling in the waterof a sea you have laid waste to.

    Lou Faber

  • CURFEW

    We sat in the cramped kitchenhuddled around the stovethe open oven door spreadinga faint warmth that barelyslid through the winter chill.The bare bulb in the ceilingstrained and flickeredfighting to hold as the generatorswere shut down, and darknessenveloped our small world.The sky was lit by the flaresand the odor of exploding shellsseeped through the towelsealed windows…

    Lou Faber