an old writer and his words

  • HOME

    I don’t know what I expected to findstanding on the corner of a residential streetin Charleston, West Virginia, the domeof the capitol peering up in the distance.That is not surprising, the orange brick homewas much larger than I had assumed, but youlived there only a few years before leavingQuarrier Street to start a life of…

    Lou Faber

  • A GIFT

    As your birthday approaches, Mother,I should pause and thank youfor your bequest of grace, a gift youleft me on you passing ten years beforeI found you, found myself again.It was more than the helical part of methat finally became apparent, morethan a heritage imagined but unknown.It was something as simple asa college yearbook picture, for…

    Lou Faber

  • GONE STILL

    Gone21 yearsstill lookingas you did81 years agoin the Morris HarveyCollege yearbookand that is how,and only how,you will everlook to memother. Thatand the tombstoneon which I criedthree years agowhen we metfor the first time.

    Lou Faber

  • A VISIT

    I used to say that my birth parents,both dead before I could give them names,her youthful face from yearbooks,come to me now in my dreams.Of course that isn’t true, theydid not come to me in my dreamsdespite my hollow invitationsso I went to them, for they no longertravel very much, preferring to stayin their well-maintained…

    Lou Faber

  • 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

  • UNKNOWING

    Twenty years ago todayand there was no band playing,at least not for me, for I knewnothing of you yet, and youknew nothing of me either. I have met you sincein a moment of silence,looking at a yearbook pictureknowing what was not, whatnever was or could be. I recite the Kaddisheven though my Judaismhas been laid…

    Lou Faber

  • MAGIC MIRROR ON THE WALL

    The face in the mirror this morningwas not mine, perhaps it wasthat of my grandparents, allI never met, having onlyold and faded pictures that vaguelyresemble the mirror’s face. It might be my parents, bothdead before I found them onlyyearbook pictures and just possiblea vague similarity to the facethat i see in the mirror each day.…

    Lou Faber

  • REAR VIEW MIND

    I spent too much time lookingbackward, looking into the past,looking into the mirrorto frame a dream historyof my desires and fears.He called one morning, lefta message, “Mother died,more details will follow.”A mother his by birth,mine by legal act.I should have felt stunnedanger, I said quietly to myselfhe’s cocky, has issues, and wentabout momentary mourning.That is…

    Lou Faber

  • IN MY BAG

    I carry my pastin a monk’s bagthat rests on my shoulder. In it you will findmy history, or bitsof it, names I havebeen given, given up,memories of childhood,pictures of my parentswho I never knew,aged in my mind fromthe photos in yearbooks,all that I have of them.. I still have roomin my bag, perhapsmore room than…

    Lou Faber

  • YEARBOOK REFLECTION

    Knowing that mybiological parents’pictures were somewherein the yearbooksI had before meI thought that Iwould search withoutlooking at the names. No one lookedat all like the meI see in the mirrornor the me I amshocked to seein my own yearbook. Yet finding themby name I quicklyrealized that Iwas their amalgama face neitherwould have recognizedno matter howsmall…

    Lou Faber