an old writer and his words

  • DID YOU?

    Sitting on the chairin the photographer’s studiodid you ever pause to wonderthat day, the snow fallingoutside the papered-over windowskeeping the light whollywithin his control,how many lonely menmight keep your picture, youtheir imagined once loverwho left, who died, whogrew apart over time,on their mantle, coffeetable, nightstand, dresser.Did you even know youwould be framed countless timesin several…

    Lou Faber

  • TOGETHER

    It is easy to say all of the wrong thingsto someone you imagine disabled,some obvious, some less so, butstop and consider if that personhas a partner, a lover, a spouse.What do you say to that personwho lives with the same disability,not wearing it but bearing itto a lesser degree nonetheless?As I lose my vision, my…

    Lou Faber

  • FAMILY

    Of the few remaining cousins, nowas old as I, a number we do not mentionor want to believe that he was her onlylover, as though she was the young girlwho left Charleston for Washington, D.C.They cite, as justifying empirical evidence,that she never married, alwaysthe beloved aunt, nothing more allowed.My later discovered existencelaid waste to their…

    Lou Faber

  • EULOGY

    In a perfect world it would bea requirement that every personupon reaching the age of 40would be compelled to writea draft of a eulogy in the voiceof each lover or partner whoserelationship he or she chose to end,one that the spurned loverwould deliver at his or her funeral.The task would comewith the caveat that one…

    Lou Faber

  • A WELL REHEARSED SILENCE

    Of course there is something I oughtto say, moments like this require it,it goes without saying, painfully. I practiced lines for hours, rehearsedin my dreams for weeks, knewfor years I’d be rendered mute. My tongue swells, threateningto escape my mouth or take refugedeep within my esophagus. Your silence is only compoundingmy anxiety, how can I,…

    Lou Faber

  • LINKAGE

    Linking things is a human need,tenuous forces barely holdingacross synapses easily brokenor lost, never to be replaced. Ithaca is forever joined withGalway City, and I still have notfigured out how to get the twopeople together as together isobviously what they should be. She sits at a small tablein the Commons, staring, waitingperhaps for a writer…

    Lou Faber

  • WRITE ON

    The problem with too manysongwriters these days isthat they either pose a questionbut demand answers, or onlypartially answer their own question,leaving the listener to guessat the balance of the answer. You are atop my list, sadly,dear Alanis, for when you askif it is ironic, for mostof your examples I mustrespond that it is not so.…

    Lou Faber

  • A SUMMER EVE

    I can’t remember what year it was,or why I was in his apartment, halfsprawled across the sofa, my girlfriend sitting with his,or one of his, he had many,on the floor, listening to Inside Bert Somers, and thinkingthat was the last place on earthI intended to go  that evening. I recall the wine was good, butthen anything a…

    Lou Faber

  • AN AWAKENING

    Take one partGrand Marnier, oneFrangelico, a short cupof coffee, whipped creamonly if you wish,curl on the sofawith your life’sgreatest loveand your firstreal, truly yourfirst Christmas Evemakes you wonderwhy you waitedso long. First published in The Poet: Christmas (2020 United Kingdom)

    Lou Faber

  • ON ARRIVAL

    This morning arrivedwith a painful slowness, the slothof irregular dreams refusing to concedeto the light struggling to creep aroundthe blinds that hide the oversize windows. It had been that sort of night,sleep arriving and departing witha frustrating lack of constancy, my bodyuncertain of its proper placement ,the mattress offering no easy solutions. Conceding the failure…

    Lou Faber