an old writer and his words

  • RECONSTRUCTIONS

    Night descended on herlike an elevator untethered,her memories in freefall into darkness.She could not forget the storiesthe elder ones quietly told,the numbers always clothed over,their smiles forced or freely given,depending on the directionof the ever-present winds of emotion.She knew she was a prisoner of her past,her inheritance both joys and horrorsinterwoven into the fabric of…

    Lou Faber

  • MEMORY

    She regularly visits the cemetery,sits for hours on the little folding stoolshe brings with her, at his gravesiteand reminisces with him over momentsof joy and sadness they had shared.Once a year she brings flowerswhich she leaves in the small pot.When she planted them in the soilbut would find them dead by her next visit.She wondered…

    Lou Faber

  • FINALLY

    It should have been an abruption.That is how he wanted it, how it wouldhave been easier for all but he was notprone to confrontation and so it lingered,depleting, eroding, wearing down untilthere was finally the longed for abruption. He did not see it coming, it camefrom out of nowhere, a fuse litmuch earlier, the explosion…

    Lou Faber

  • RECENT MEMORIES

    Looking through your wedding albumtwenty years after a midlife marriageyou are quickly awash in emotions.There is the joy of the moment, magnifiedduring the succeeding years, andthe rekindled memories of peopleand moments of the day forgottenor lost in the tumult that is attendanton any wedding, first or second.But there is a deep sadness as well,at those…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE THAT

    There is a certain joy in writing fiction,for many readers will assume the protagonistis the author or at least partially basedon the author, never pausing to considerthat the villains and lesser charactersare just as likely to be based to some extenton the author or bits of his or her life.And often the readers are not…

    Lou Faber

  • OUT OF HIDING

    The hidden joy of youth, and itsinevitable disappointment, isin finding that special person.Each time it is the birth of true love,eventually, save in rare circumstances,it is the death of an illusionand the aching pain accompanying the loss. The certainty of youthful emotionis a bondage that is most often inescapable,and there is no desire to leave…

    Lou Faber

  • STOICS

    This afternoon the vulture couplesit stoically on the limbsof the long dead tree in the preserve. The rain was torrentialas we watched from the dryconfines of our home, theystood soaked to the featherswith nowhere to hide, knowingthey couldn’t out fly or out climbthe purging clouds, so they setsoaking wet and stared at us. And then…

    Lou Faber

  • BLEEDING

    A violinist canlook at an Amatior a Guarnieriand hear a concerto. A birder hearsthe call of the songbirdand can describethe beauty of her plumage. A skilled photographerlooks through the viewfinderand tells a complete storywith one press of the shutter button. But it is the poetalone, staring at a blank page,who spills onto it joy and…

    Lou Faber

  • AND COUNTING

    How many timeshad they almost metover the years before that evening? What if the Fateshad allowed meetings,what would have changed?Likely everything, nothing,for when they might have metneither was available,he a student imagining himselfalready in love, or both marriednever thinking those relationshipswould possibly end in divorce. And how many times had theybeen in the same placeseparated…

    Lou Faber

  • MY RABBI (PART 2)

    I tell him I am thinking of becominga rabbi, someone just like him,a man who saw so many throughall manner of crises, joyous events. He sits back in his unsteady chair,one he refuses to replace, this onefinally broken in, he says with thatgentle smile that melts anger, anxiety. You would do well at it, I…

    Lou Faber