an old writer and his words

  • A MOMENT

    A night of broken dreams,a day of trembling handsminutes of knocking kneeswearing a path into an alreadyaging and worn wooden deck.A moment of sight,a moment when time stoppedand words failed, paralyzedby fear, by beauty, by a smile.A meal prattling on, tryingto see signs, not knowing whatthose signs might be.Twenty-three years of a joyI hadn’t known…

    Lou Faber

  • MORE AND LONGER

    He arrived suddenly, for that was his way,always with a glad hand and a smile,he was welcomed freely, expected or not.He was a bedouin, the world his deserta gypsy of sorts now here then there then . . .,well that would be determined later.Some hoped he would remain, forgea physical closeness to match withtheir feeling…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE THAT

    They smile although they arethe broken people, the ones to whomfate, luck or mistakes have dealta lousy hand with no way to leavethe table save with the finalall in, no winner here, bet.But they think that unimaginableand struggle on just happyto have gotten this far, this long.Many laugh freely, the brokenor missing pieces conversation starters,and…

    Lou Faber

  • SUZY

    What do you sayon the loss of a child?We sat in the loungedrinking a vile potionfrom a hollowed pineapple,giggling insanelyfor no reason.We wandered the tunnelsfaces painted,clowns in bedlam.We lay togetheron a mattresson the floor and listenedto Aqualungmy arms around youboth, but sleepcame slowly and we talkeduntil night ran fromthe encroaching sun. I can feel her…

    Lou Faber

  • MY SORT OF SISTER

    I don’t remember her crib,but it was probably the one that Ihad only recently outgrown, butthe wood was polished pine,the rails topped with plasticthat I had dented with some cribtoy or other, the mattress soft,a mobile hanging off the end.She cried a lot at first, and mothersaid that was what babies did,but she said I…

    Lou Faber

  • A TIME ONCE

    There was a time when wewould go to the desert or shore.Now the desert comes to usand we know the oceanwill arrive not far behind it.We learned to shape our world,mold it to our desires, perceived wants.The world has grown weary of ustinkerers never satisfied, moreour watchword, enough forgotten.Now it demands that weacceed t o…

    Lou Faber

  • THINGS I SHOULD HAVE TOLD MY SONS

    1.You can lead a horse to waterbut if he is agoraphobicyou will be walking home 2.You can runbut doing so on icewill lead to useless bruisingand broken bones 3.a bird in the handwill not be terribly happyand could shitall over your new shoes 4.All good things comeand most go,but bad things lingerif you allow it…

    Lou Faber

  • NEWBORN

    When you first pick her upshe is so much smallerthan you had imagined,fitting comfortably into the crookof an elbow, your handunder her knees.She raises a thin armand stares into andthen through youwith navy blue eyesthat you carry awayin your dreams.She is not fragile,that is the wrong wordfor her size beliesa strength she shareswith you, a…

    Lou Faber

  • WHY, OH WHY

    He was awash in questions. What, he wanted to know, did they use to cut the mustard? A knife seemed excessive, or did they mean some lesser powdered spice. Why was the cat in the bag? How do you learn anything by bruising your hand on books? Do buckets cause foot infections that kill you?…

    Lou Faber

  • GOOD LUCK WITH THAT

    The fortune cookies of my childhoodwere far more interesting, or somy memory would have it.The cookies offered wisdomof the East, or so it seemedto a 10-year-old, but perhapsit was the same mumbo-jumboin the bulk print today, nowthat the cookies, which oncetasted good, unlike today’sorigami cardboard, werefolded by hand, and therewere no lotteries then, sothere was…

    Lou Faber