an old writer and his words

  • A VISIT

    I used to say that my birth parents,both dead before I could give them names,her youthful face from yearbooks,come to me now in my dreams.Of course that isn’t true, theydid not come to me in my dreamsdespite my hollow invitationsso I went to them, for they no longertravel very much, preferring to stayin their well-maintained…

    Lou Faber

  • NO BIALIS

    It shouldn’t be all that hardreally, it should be almostsecond nature, after allI grew up Jewish, and keptto it until I was past fortyand I still have half my genesthat should remember for me.But here I am, sweating bulletsfollowing arcane directionsand hoping for a decent outcome.You wouldn’t think thatmaking bagels would beall that difficult, but…

    Lou Faber

  • EIRE

    They say you must cherishyour memories lest they slipaway in the night, trying fora freedom you deny them. I remember Ireland, knowingit was home although at the timeI thought I was Ashkenaziand Portuguese, but my geneswere trying to tell me something. I remember driving a stickshift down narrow roads,always keeping in mindthe advice, “if you…

    Lou Faber