an old writer and his words

  • CALLING

    In the dark heart of nighttime is suddenly frozen,the clock’s hands stalactitesand stalagmites, unyieldingdenying the approach of morning,leaving the sun imprisonedunder the watchful gazeof its celestial wardens. It is then you appear,call out to me, beg mebe silent, not askingthe lifetime of questionsI have accreted, providingmy own hopes andimagination for answers,but you have faces, notthose…

    Lou Faber

  • ON THE MANTLE

    Perhaps it is just that Ido not have a mantle on whichto place the cherished artifactsof my life, my parentsand grandparents photos,a family Tanach, the tallismy first adoptive father woreto his Bar Mitzvah. I have nothing, which this dayseems sadly appropriate,for their history really isnot mine, never was, Isimply borrowed it for a timebut all…

    Lou Faber

  • AN ORPHAN

    I knew you’d show up in my dream,it was a matter of time and faith,or perhaps just playing the averages,sooner or later became sooner, that’s all. You had nothing to say, but that, toowas to be expected, for I have neverheard your voice, and imagine it akinto the voice of the GPS or perhaps Siri.…

    Lou Faber

  • TIDAL SHIFTS

    It’s difficult enough, Mom, that Inever got to meet you, to see your facesave in a college yearbook, to haveonly a few relatives acknowledgemy existence despite the DNA testthat clearly links us, one to the other.What makes it more difficult istrying to figure out my heritage,my geographic roots before our familyarrived in West Virginia, backin…

    Lou Faber

  • TAI YRA MANO MOTINA (THIS IS MY MOTHER)

    It’s odd how your stature has grown as I dream of you occasionally staring at your yearbook picture. It was only four years ago that I knew you existed, but hadn’t the faintest idea of who you were, anything about your life, why you gave me up, and, therefore who it was I might have…

    Lou Faber