biography of a moment

a mark on the page to begin – a birth unannounced to move forward, but the rest, the afterbirth remains hidden… what brought me here to this moment rests now in the past – the long and ancient history threaded through the air, twisting and intertwined, cut and frayed – worn to the point of the snap and fall, no safety net. another day of fishing and what lies dying in the sand. the watermark fading, drying with the air – a count down to the passing – a clock that keeps track with no face, no hands, no explanation… almost gone except for the faint memory of a ring – until the next tear drop falls. falls into the crease – caught between this moment and the next where the violence of existing only leaves saltwater stains on an empty page. there is no sense left in the curves and turns of the letters, or in the rising or setting of the sun – and it seems every moment has its birth and death – deals with the afterbirth of the one before and leaves the rest for the next to come – but why, why does it feel like the sword has been jammed against my head, the cogs frozen and yet not still – demanding to be heard demanding to be healed and the heart torn out by my own hand and left behind because there are nine ways to misunderstand. why – a question that prolongs the death of this moment … stuck in the cycle, choking on the enormity of the question I can only gasp for air – a breath is all I ask. where did I lose myself, the simplicity of me? searching the edges of this page, and tracing the fibers with my finger tips – where is the reassurance that what lies beyond is there? is real? what is left to trust when there was none to begin with? questions that only leave the truth spinning, careening towards the precipice that I have been standing on for so long… I was not the person I thought I was… not when love lies dying in the roses and I, I was lost before I began. a mark on the page to end – but not an ending that I have known, a beginning of another turn – because no moment stands alone…  ~04.05.06

{note: I just found this piece that I wrote five years ago… wanted to share and not lose it again!}

Published by Leigh-Anne Fraser

writer, poet, photographer, artist, illustrator, knitter,friend and fine pancake flipper

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