an old writer and his words

  • REFUSE TO RECALL

    We have now forgotten whatit is like to take flight, to seek,to finally find a true freedomfrom an always grasping land. Once we did it out of necessity,lives incomplete, prisonerswho committed no crimesave those of thought and faith. Now we only claim to admirethose who seek what weonce did, watch them withmock awe, but deny…

    Lou Faber

  • WEAVING

    A length of threadcolorful to be surealone, easilyignored, sweptaside. Woveninto a tapestrypart of a picturetreasuredfor beauty, ordepicting horrorbut remembered. Countless threadscolorfulalonetogethertelling taleslockedin memory. First Published in New Feathers Anthology Spring 2021http://www.newfeathersanthology.com/new-feathers21.htm

    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

  • PHOTOGRAPH

    I saw a picture of you today, althoughI can’t be certain when it was taken,and while I can easily say that youlook exactly as I remember you,that is saying nothing really,for moments after I took the picturewe said goodbye to each other,intending to meet again, knowingthe chances of that were minuscule. I have returned your…

    Lou Faber

  • MONA

    Of course, she’s sitting there,calmly, staring off onto space.She has to know somethingis amiss, no one has cometo visit her in days, but sheknows that whenever, if ever,whatever it is that is happeningis finally over, that theywill once again return, stareat her, wonder aloud and silentlywhy she is smiling, and shewill as always say nothing,…

    Lou Faber

  • GRANDCHILD

    You more easily rememberthe birth of a grandchildthan his or her parent whether from a memorysharpened by ageor regular sleep or by a visionmore acute for knowingwhat to look for, or simply a clingingtightly to any symbolof youth denied you. It may be as wellthat grandchildren seeyou differently than parents a hope for a long…

    Lou Faber

  • A LOST PEN

    I wrote a poem for my father,about how one afternoonthe oddly green ’57 Caddyappeared in the drivewayand he polished its chrome for hours,even waxed the black bumper bullets.It was the love of his lifehe said, except for his wife,he added after a moment.The years would provethat addition was most likely false.I could send him the…

    Lou Faber

  • AROMA

    What I want, no, need actually,is to remember the smells of youth.The images I can recall, but they areaged pictures, run repeatedly throughthe Photoshop of memory, andcannot be trusted only desired. The old, half ready to fall oak,in the Salt Lake City park hada faint pungency that lingeredeven as I departed my body asthe acid…

    Lou Faber

  • GROUNDED

    it was so much easier when I could stillimagine myself a bird, untetheredand free to take flight on a whim. In dreams I often flew, no Icarusbut a raptor, peering down, seeingwith a clarity the earth denied me. Now my roots have taken holdin the enmeshing soil plunged deepand spread tendrils anchoring me, and even…

    Lou Faber

  • SOMETHING NEW

    When I was a child, my motherrepeatedly told me that I mustlearn something new each day. I knew better than to point outthat it was absurd to callfor novel behavior by repetition. So I took the path of least resistanceand each day grabbed a randomvolume of the World Book Encyclopedia, opened to any page and…

    Lou Faber