an old writer and his words

  • KNOWLEDGE

    I suppose I ought not be shockedwhen my grandson, all of twelve,explains to me the conceptof the expanding universe, norwhen asked about the capitalof Burundi fires back Gitegaand adds that Burundi has threeofficial languages, English, Frenchand of course Kirundi, and I nodhoping my ignorance isn’t obvious.I don’t dare ask how he knowslest he says everyone…

    Lou Faber

  • A PERFECT STILLNESS

    You lie there, perfectly still,the morning breeze slides awayleaving the sun to stare down,and the birds fall into silence.  I gently touch the stone, feelyour cheek beneath my finger,see your face, the college yearbookphoto all that I have of you.  I speak silently to you, tellingof my sixty-seven years, of yourgrandsons and great grandchildrenand I…

    Lou Faber

  • READING LIST

    A good friend, who we hadnot seen in COVID time, visitedand we smiled when we sawthat she was reading Heidi,catching up she said on a tooabbreviated childhood, onesacrificed to circumstance My grandson, soon enoughten, says he is readingBeowulf, though not the Heaneytranslation, so there are twomore books on my booksyou must read before you die…

    Lou Faber

  • FINDING PEACE

    It wasn’t lost on me, mother, that this yearon the anniversary of death, you had been goneeighteen years, Chai in your beloved Hebrew,a lifetime for me, having never met yousave in the half of my genes you implantedin me when I was implanted in you. As you aged, alone, did you wonder whatbecame of the…

    Lou Faber

  • THOUGHT HARBOR

    I harbored the thought one day becoming a monk, and not only because saffron robes would be well within my usual color choices. I knew it was a pipe dream, I love, too deeply, to disavow, life and I’m sure my past lives wouldn’t take all that long to catch up with me, karma can…

    Lou Faber

  • ZEN

    He has just turned two. He sits on my lap one hand clapping mine, for each of us a moment of Zen in ways no one can understand, since neither he nor I do. His laugh promises something, a future of moments like this, and yet never the same. “It is our river,” his smile…

    Lou Faber

  • TOOTHLESS BODHISATTVA

    He will tell you that the distance between a tear and a laugh is the span of a mother’s arm. He knows the duration of sadness is identical to a shnork*. He cannot understand how you could have forgotten all this. He doesn’t know why you cannot recall that enlightenment is no more than a…

    Lou Faber