an old writer and his words

  • A FAREWELL VISIT

    My mother no longer visits mein my dreams, actuallyneither does for I’ve had two,the advantage or is itdisadvantage of the adoptee.None of my three fathersever paid a postmortem visit.It complicates things when allI know of my birth mother isfrom a college yearbook photo,but that is how she looked in thosefew visits after I discovered her.The…

    Lou Faber

  • MOTHERS’ DAY

    This is the day I am supposedto honor my motherbut I am torn as to which motherI should pay tribute, or is itboth or possibly neither.One carried me, bore meinto life and departed,for my good, for hers andthe grave has sworn her to silence.Is it the woman whoadopted me, I her onlyuntil her new husbandgave…

    Lou Faber

  • HORSING AROUND

    At some point in time I imaginemy mother’s family must’ve hadhorses, or perhaps the ones they sawwere the horses of the locals,an aide when you are conductinga pogram, chasing familiesfrom their homes, into a flight to freedom.Perhaps my family were farmersor merchants in Lithuania, thoughprobably not owning a drugstoreas their children did in CharlstonWest Virginia,…

    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

  • CHARLESTON, WV

    Half of me, according to the twistedstrands of deoxyribonucleic acid,has its roots in Liskovo, which would bea simple matter were there not townsby that name in Poland and Belarus,and none in Lithuania, the language of my genes. All of this is preparatory to my visitnext week to the city where my mother,grandparents and great grandparentsare…

    Lou Faber

  • A CITY OUT THERE

    Somewhere out therein a city strugglingthere is a man dancingin the reflected lightof a street lampto the sound of the wind,there is a couplecaressing each other,wishing for just onecigarette,there is a babycalling for its motherfor a meal,there is a carparked in a drivewayits lights fadinginto the bleakness,there is a neon signflashing OPENinto the void of…

    Lou Faber

  • THE WEIGHT OF MOURNING

    The weight of mourning defies precise measurement,and all of the rules of mathematics fail in an attempt.Grief rejects being placed on scales, there is nevera moment of pure equilibrium, only a teeteringthat always threatens to bring it all down in a heap.A million who are nameless and faceless is an agonyand yet eighty thousand with…

    Lou Faber

  • ON ITS HEAD

    Death has an uncanny knackfor turning normalcy on its head.My mother was never readyat the time my parents had to leaveeither selecting outfitsor jewelry, the right shoes,as my father stood by fidgetingand looking at his watch,knowing better than to say anything.Yet she left without notice,no delays at all, just suddenly goneso unlike her to make…

    Lou Faber

  • WETLAND BRAVADO

    He was the smallest, thatis what drew you to him.Still, he had a certain bravadoa serious strut to his walk.Perhaps it was becausehis father was there, a protectorin part, in another part a challenge.He knew his mother was lookingso it became a matter of pride.He could imagine himselfa father one day, his own childrentrailing behind…

    Lou Faber

  • WITH KNOWING

    With knowledge comes somethingbut I cannot remember whatmy mother told me it was, orperhaps it was a teacherwho said it, but I can’t hopeto tell which one it was, Icannot remember someof their names or in what gradeit might have been said.I don’t think it was in collegeor graduate school since by thenit was assumed…

    Lou Faber