an old writer and his words

  • THE HOUSE ON PEABODY

    It was brick, red I am told.on a quiet street not farfrom 16th Street and its traffic.It was small, but a good homefor a couple with a child or twoin the heart of the District. I have no recollection of it,save the tile, black and whitein the bathroom, the radiatoron which I hit my head,and…

    Lou Faber

  • JUST ONE MORE HAND

    My parents, well my father,always felt is was necessaryto stop on the way to our summer homein the Western Adirondacksto visit Uncle Morris, who mayor may not have been an unclein the blood sense, it was never clear.It was he who sold my father the cottagenear the small lake, he who nowlived in a nursing…

    Lou Faber

  • PARENTAL MOMENTS

    My adoptive parents diedsix years apart, I receivedtwo announcement textsfrom the son they had together. We negotiated her obituary,and I am waiting for her funeral,but after seven years, I havegiven up hope of that happening. I did visit my birth mother’sgrave, placed a small  stone on hers, watered the groundwith tears of sadness and joy at…

    Lou Faber

  • AN ORPHAN

    I knew you’d show up in my dream,it was a matter of time and faith,or perhaps just playing the averages,sooner or later became sooner, that’s all. You had nothing to say, but that, toowas to be expected, for I have neverheard your voice, and imagine it akinto the voice of the GPS or perhaps Siri.…

    Lou Faber

  • LOWER FLAT, BUFFALO

    It was a small house, that muchI still remember clearly, not wide,what some called a railroad flat,but ours had two floors, as if tworailroad cars had been stackedone on top of the other. We, luckily, had the bottom, orat least that’s what my father said,and his varicose veined legs applaudedhis selection of our new home.…

    Lou Faber

  • FATHERING

    Recalling it now, the sight had to be absurd,and I suspect it was at the time,but as its beneficiary then. I darednot say anything, I’d mastered that already. My father in khakis and a poor excusefor a flannel shirt, Goodwill no doubt,but you had to have one just for occasionslike this, not that they would…

    Lou Faber

  • PARENTHOOD

    Two headstonesName, rank, branchof service, dates. One New Jersey, oneVirginia, both Bittleneither certain. An email fromanother Bittle, neverknew my father but his wasWilliam, and inthat moment, James Owen becamea father yet againand I complete. And later stilla single picturehe in the back row and the mirroragrees that weare truly family.

    Lou Faber

  • PARENT AGE

    I have two mothers, now both dead,I have three fathers, one unknown, one buriedoutside Washington and one lostin a corner of his shrinking mind.I am growing older, I have achesand clicks and pops and groans,which each remind me that Iam aware and alive and thatisn’t a bad way to start a new day.

    Lou Faber

  • GOING DOWN

    Hell is a place where what you least desire becomes eternally yours, or so we were told as children, well not us, not the Jewish kids, for us Hell was our mothers’ finding that copy of Playboy we stole from our father’s stash our mother didn’t know about, and which he would deny, throwing us…

    Lou Faber

  • DEPARTING

    We now live in a strange world where nothing is as it was mere weeks ago. I am blessed to live on a small nature preserve and have been spending my afternoons with camera in hand. So if you want something other than words (which follow) you are welcome to visit https://www.flickr.com/photos/98342503@N00/, my Flickr site,…

    Lou Faber