an old writer and his words

  • MEMORIAL PRAYER

    We are rapidly approachingthe forty-ninth day since youdied early that morning.We knew you would be dying,you told us so, told usnot to worry, it was your time.Still each day we recitethe memorial verses, hopeothers in the sanghado as well, hope that yourtransition out of this lifehas been made, in somesmall measure, easierby our daily recitation.We…

    Lou Faber

  • FAREWELL

    Is there any good way to remotelyannounce an unexpected death?When our mother died, her son (mystatus as a son then in flux althoughI wouldn’t discover that until later)opted for an early morning phone call,cursory, the time, the cause, its suddenness,and then assigned me to write and pay for the obituary,which he finally approved eight drafts…

    Lou Faber

  • THE SON SETS

    My adoptive mother said:I chose you from all the others.My adoptive mother meant:when the wheel of fortunestop spinning the arrowpointed you and that was that. My “brother,” biological sonof my adoptive parents said:we have always thought of youjust like a brother.My “brother” meant:we were stuck with youthough you weren’t even half to us. When my…

    Lou Faber

  • PENNED IN

    He stares at the collectionof pens crammed tightly intoa coffee mug whose handlehad long since broken away. He knows some are dead,awaiting a proper burial,following a brief memorialservice paying homageto their illustrious past. He is certain that oneor more is secretly harboringthe poem or story that hehas been meaning to write,the one that the journalon…

    Lou Faber