an old writer and his words

  • IN PASSING

    I remember heras the little girl wantinga birthday pony I see a womanfinding her way in the worldalways beautiful I want to forgetthe still far too young womantaken by cancer

    Lou Faber

  • IN MY MOTHER’S HOUSE

    In my mother’s housethe refrigerator was dottedby little plastic fruitand the phone numberof a plumber we had once used,my sisters latest drawingpresaging a careerin health service managementa shopping listand my brother’s report cardshowing exemplary effortbut a weakness in spellingand my upcoming appointmentat the orthodontist. In my housethe refrigerator is dottedwith little wordsfrom Shakespeareand Chaucerand those…

    Lou Faber

  • NO AUDITION

    It was a roleshe never anticipatednever wanted, leftto her sisters to carrythe genetic line forward.And she spentthe last half-centuryof her lifetrying to forgetthe role she playedand had to abandon.Although she now istwo decades goneon the second Mondayof May I now stopbless her and mourn herfor performing the rolethat brought me into being

    Lou Faber

  • MY SORT OF SISTER

    I don’t remember her crib,but it was probably the one that Ihad only recently outgrown, butthe wood was polished pine,the rails topped with plasticthat I had dented with some cribtoy or other, the mattress soft,a mobile hanging off the end.She cried a lot at first, and mothersaid that was what babies did,but she said I…

    Lou Faber

  • TOTALLY UNFAIR

    You realize, of course, that it wasan arbitrary and capricious decisionno matter what you say, making up the rulesas you go, changing them withoutconsulting those of us who are to bemost affected by the changes. Suremy brothers and sisters probably agreed,more for them with me out of the picture,but don’t give me the lecture on…

    Lou Faber

  • SISTER

    I can picture her sittingin her small apartmentholding a cup of tea.This is Parma, or perhaps,Milan, two of the threecities I visited in Italy.Her hair is long, grayand white, her smile pained.She does not know I existbut we share so much,a father we never metfirst and foremost.We will never meet,for she, too, may be dead…

    Lou Faber

  • LISA, ONCE

    A phone call, a lawyer’s clerk:Can you tell me about Lisa Landesman?I pause for that is a name I havenot heard in forty years, savein a poem I once wrote,now long forgotten. She was my sister for twoor three weeks, adopted like I was,and then Mike, my then fatherdropped dead of a massiveheart attack and…

    Lou Faber

  • STET-US QUO

    The mind can bea brutal editor, revisinghistory, rejecting memorieswithout a substantial rewrite. My step sister, many yearsdead remains five, thatyoung face engraftedon the woman ravagedby unrelenting cancers. My first wife of 30 yearsis mostly faceless, themental pictures and dreamsedited until only sheis unrecognizable. And in moments of reflectionI am no longer adopted,the step-siblings were,but they…

    Lou Faber

  • MANDATORY, FOR NOW

    They were not optional in our family,once a week, half an hour, that andat least 20 minutes daily, the youngestgot the choice of times. He quit after a year, his sisterwas three years in and went on anotherand I was eight years staringat the 88 keys, so many of whichwould never get used, uselessas were…

    Lou Faber

  • NYE

    As a child, I only wantedto stay up until midnight,actually a bit after that time,to see in the new year. I didn’t need to beat my parents’ party, itwas too loud and the adultsbehaved more like my kidbrother and sister asthe magic moment approached. And it was supposed to bea magical moment, althoughno one could…

    Lou Faber