an old writer and his words

  • 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

  • ONE DAY

    We stood trapped betweenslack-jawed and reverentlooking at the woman sittingcross-legged outside the doorwaylovingly fashioning a pot,her gnarled fingers gentleon the yielding clay. Others this day fashionedrings and pendantssimple tools on silverand one of a kind treasuresthey would lay outon blankets hoping wewould want morethan just a photograph. Our day on the Taos Puebloended too early,…

    Lou Faber

  • HAUNTING

    The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…

    Lou Faber

  • QUESTION POSED, AWAITING A RESPONSE

    I stooped and spoketo a stone, asking the question.I was here before you arrivedand I will be her long after you leave.I held the sand in my handwarm from the sun, asking the question.I came after your arrivedand I will leave long before you are gone.I held the winter wind on the tipof a finger,…

    Lou Faber