FORWARD

As a child I was quite fond
of staring into the future
for hours on end, when
my parents told me
to get my head out of books
and go outside to play.

I never could see much
in my staring, thought
I was probably myopic
but my parents said I
couldn’t need glasses, they
cost far too much
for someone my age.

I realize now, now that
that future is mostly
my past, that I wouldn’t
have understood anything
I might have seen, had
I ever seen anything at all.

RETIRED

God sits at his easel, brush in hand
and thinks about the butterfly
alighting on the oak.
This man would rather paint
the nightmare of hell, but
he has been cast out and
his memory has grown dim.
He remembers being a small child
amused by the worm peering
from soil in a fresh rain and how
when he split it, both halves
would slither away
in opposite directions.
Now he rocks in the chair
and watches night fall
and shatter on the winter ground.

First Appeared in Medicinal Purposes: A Literary Review, Vol. 1, No. 6,
Spring 1997.

EMERGENT

When I least expect it, one
may unfurl wings and lift
into a clouded sky searching
for the hidden sun, or

it may wander off, a child
momentarily free of parents
off to discover the real world, or

it may retreat back into
the pen, unwilling to be seen,
objecting to its misuse, or

it may sit in front of the TV
and watch soap operas
and game shows, not caring
what is on the screen, just
escaping from the damned page, or

it may sit still, be tucked away
and hope one day to be accepted
for all the world to see.

A PERFECT STILLNESS

You lie there, perfectly still,
the morning breeze slides away
leaving the sun to stare down,
and the birds fall into silence. 

I gently touch the stone, feel
your cheek beneath my finger,
see your face, the college yearbook
photo all that I have of you. 

I speak silently to you, telling
of my sixty-seven years, of your
grandsons and great grandchildren
and I sense your smile, and a tear. 

Your parents are here, your
grandparents, sisters, brothers
and cousins, and I know give
you three generations more. 

It is time for me to go, but these
moments are the most I have
of you, and as I place my small stone
atop yours, I now have a mother.

First Published in Culture & Identity, Vol. 2, The Poet (2022)

UNGAN’s NOT ANY SINGLE WORD

The youngest child,
her mind uncluttered,
can answer any question
unburdened by words,
her answers rebound
across the universe.
If you stop struggling
to hear her, let
the silence surround
you both, you cannot
escape the answers

A reflection on case 84 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo Koans (True Dharma Eye)

LUNAR LUNCH

Even as a child I was
reasonably certain that
the moon wasn’t made
of green cheese as some
of my friends said, because
even if it was cheese, I
was sure it would be either
Roquefort or Gorgonzola.

No one had been
to the moon back then,
nothing had marred its surface,
so we took the scientists
on faith that it was
something other than cheese.

Now looking back we
must consider our naivete,
for it was scientists
in the employ of companies
who assured us that
tobacco might actually be
good for us, although we
never saw them smoking
come to think of it now.

JOSHU’S CYPRUS TREE

A young child
does not ask for meaning,
all things are
as they are
until they are not.
The foolishness of age
causes men to stare
in search of meaning
they will never find.
It is the blind man
who will find the diamond.

A reflection on case 119 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye) Koans

A PAINFUL REMINDER

I had it good, I

had it easy, I

would be the first

to admit it, to save

you the trouble

of reminding me,

more by way

of illustrating how

badly you had it.

I’ll concede you

had it rough, 

money always 

tight, but you 

never were, never

would be a Jewboy

although you 

and your friends

reminded me I

was, constantly.

FLIGHT

As a young child, I always imagined
myself a bird, poised to take wing
the next time my parents told me
I couldn’t do what I wanted,
to swoop around, out of their grasp,
until it was time for lunch or dinner.

Years later my dream was to be
a pilot, Air Force not Navy, I might
get seasick and that isn’t a sight
even I would want to see, until
I read Jarrell’s “The Death
of the Ball Turret Gunner,” and
the ground seemed a safer place.

Once in the business world, I
thought about some day retiring
young and seeing the world
on the cheap, Asia, Africa, Oceana,
and that lasted until the second
time I had to fly to Japan with
fourteen hours in a coach class
middle seat on a Boeing 747
when my backyard suddenly
became the future of my dreams.

ADOPTION

Without choice, I, evicted from the womb
Not cast aside, despite what I would see,
Too soon carried into an unknown room

and gladly taken up, offsetting gloom,
and soon another child, I becoming we.
Without choice, I evicted from the womb

was there to watch him fall into his tomb,
leaving her with grief weighing heavily.
Too soon carried into an unknown room

she took gladly, I left to assume
why my birth mother hadn’t wanted me,
without choice, I evicted from the womb

left to imagine her face, in my gloom
whispering in my dreams, “you had to be
too soon carried into an unknown room,

to insure you a life, that you might be
more than I could offer, be truly free.”
Without choice, I evicted from the womb
too soon carried into an unknown room.

First published in Grand Little Things, Vol. 1, No. 1, July 2020
grand-little-things.com/2020/07/21/two-poems-by-louis-faber/