an old writer and his words

  • POSSIBILITY

    It is quite possibleI had seen you beforein the hallway perhaps.I hope I smiled,I assume you did.Neither of uscould have imaginedit would one daygrow into love.

    Lou Faber

  • NOT YOU, NOT NOW

    The cat ignored him totally this morning. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if she could have told time. It was surprising, and for him it was painful. He loved the cat, and he thought the cat loved him. Once he thought he saw her sneer but he knew cats did not do…

    Lou Faber

  • CAPACITY

    It is not that I am gettingforgetful as I grow older, it ismerely that I am replacingold information with new,my mind is large butits capacity is still finite. So if I forget your namewhen I see you, it is notbecause you do not matter,although that could be the case,it is simply that I nowremember the…

    Lou Faber

  • LOOKING

    As you look at him or herdo you see someone witha beauty you only wish you had,or someone you pityfor lacking your beauty? As they look at youdo they see someone witha beauty they only wish they hador someone they pityfor lacking their beauty? When I look at either of youI see a person like…

    Lou Faber

  • HEAVEN, UTAH

    We would sit around the small parkas evening made a hasty retreatto somewhere, anywhere more livelythan Salt Lake City in the heart of summer. We’d pass a jug of whatever wascheapest at the state package store,usuall Gallo this or that, and roll jointswhich made their way around our circle. The cops would drive by every…

    Lou Faber

  • GRAMMATICALLY APART

    What sets us apartfrom other specieshas little or nothingto do with self-awarenessand everything to dowith parts of speech. The birds outsidemy window shun labels,think only of eating,mating, flight, of goingand arriving, of being. They know nothing of birth,do not fear death, for itis merely a label they cannotaccept or understand. It is left to our…

    Lou Faber

  • SIREN SONG

    I should stand on the shoretake up a great shelland blow a trumpet songto the whales who stayalways just beyond sight. I have no shoreon which to standand had I one, I lackthe skill to plucka song from a shelland so the whalesI imagine offshoremust listen carefullyto the song I castdeep within my dreams.

    Lou Faber

  • FEEDER

    The seed specklesthe snow like buckshotpiled neatly under the branchwhere we, fingers numbed,tied the little chaletto the lowest limbof the ancient maple.The birds stand staringas the squirrel swingsslowly in the breeze. First Appeared in Echoes, March – April 1996.

    Lou Faber

  • HISTORY

    It was easierhaving no historyof my own, borrowedhistories are easily discarded. After a while, youbegin to think of the adoptedhistory as your own,and no one doubts you. I have a history nowcountries woven into my DNA, always presentbut never before seen. It is mine, I passed italong to my sons, andalthough it grows weakerit is a…

    Lou Faber

  • INVASION

    The light has fadedand the wetland lies underits mantle of faint starlight. The birds are there, wecan hear them, but our eyesdo not allow us to see them,despite our desire to havemore time with them. They can see us, in our well lit homes, staring out,but they do not want particularly to see us. To us they…

    Lou Faber