lei fraser

imagine.create.become

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

Author: Leigh-Anne Fraser

  • saying goodbye

    The day after my last post here, December 19th, my mother died unexpectedly. I am not in a place to be able to write about it, or her right now. I am sitting with my grief as best I can. My mother was 78. I miss her .

  • Twelve Days of Christmas – Unsent Letters

    I found some unsent letters that I wrote sixteen years ago. I wrote them for the twelve days of Christmas. I don’t remember why I started writing them, or who each letter was for. I also did not know it at the time, but a year later, my world would shatter and life would never…

  • I didn’t ask for this

    I didn’t ask for thisthese lines and curves etched in stonebroken songs lost poetryinterrupted by the turningof the sunthe moonI didn’t ask for thisthe wandering stringsthat tie this heart to anotherheld by a fish hook throughscaled flesh in spite of myselfbroken songslost poetry interrupted by the turning of the sunthe moonI didn’t ask for thiswhen…

  • tournesol

    One summer, long time ago, I grew this sunflower. By grew, I mean I planted the seeds, watered and weeded, but mostly just watched as the flower grew and grew. It grew taller than the eavestrough of the house I was living at the time. I did not measure it, but it was huge compared…

  • still

    a part of me remains unchanged in the time we have known each other your reflection a drop falling to meet the calm, cool lake water moments wrapped in layers like pebbles rolling in endless waves I am there that part of me that has always been tumbling You are there in those rolling ripples…

  • time

    like a fly crawling across the screen door on a hot August afternoon time passes in slow plodding steps when you are gone I listen to the cicada scream in the trees the heat of the day grows as I coax another minute on the clock to stumble into the past you are never far…

  • where

    where do I begin along these empty lines to unfold the days lay them out on the desk in carefully crafted phrases wind them in delicate circles around my body tucked into a thousand pieces of paper waiting for the north wind to catch them through the window beginning with hope laughter in the fresh…

  • turn the dial

    turn the dial as the sun passes the window orange glow soup heats on the stove I stretch my arms to wrap around the empty space empty embrace before me fluorescent light distorts my reflection lines point in different directions around the eyes don’t know where to look to find the truth which line to…

  • intersection

    lines on the page drawn with a careful hand outlines move in slow curves to the centre crossing over in unexpected intersections blank pages slowly fill colour pulled by sunlight sneaking through cracks we are okay alone living in the corners of our soul but together is better when the lines meet before continuing on…

  • your voice falls

    your voice falls over me like honey from a spoon held high enough to slip down to cover to soothe to calm me I breathe again for the first time not realizing I had held my breath for years breath comes dressed in laughter in tears in healing in freedom an unintended gift perhaps not…

  • the pause after the end

    the pause after the end leaning into another beginning that place I want need to step into it fold my body fold my heart fold myself to curl around you to hold you close to me and be held beyond the edge of myself but like a thousand steel needles I fear if I close…

  • I have let these threads

    I have let these threads weave between us in loose and fragile patterns that complicates itself in the futility of existence I go and return to you as the sun passes the window pulling light into corners where it has not touched yet before leaving again I wake and sleep not moving in this isolation…