Author Archives: Leigh-Anne Fraser

About Leigh-Anne Fraser

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


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There is a rule that I was talk when I joined a writing workshop a decade ago that I have never forgotten. When you are diving into writing about something, whether it is an event from your past, a relationship, a topic, it is better to wait for at least five years before attempting to free-fall. The five year rule, in theory, gives enough time and space for the writer to digest, heal or do whatever needs to happen in order for the writing to be raw, authentic, and perhaps a little less painful to relive I am not sure whose rule that was originally, but I have never been able to put it out of my mind.

It has been twenty-nine years and I still struggle to put into words what I experienced while staying in Africa. I could probably make a list of reasons why but after making several attempts over the years to do so, I think a better approach will be to not think about it, and just write. When I start thinking about it, I get lost in the thinking and the writing doesn’t happen. The problem for me right now is, I keep having dreams that involve the people that I lived there with. After such a long period of time, I am waking up each morning after having vivid dreams, being able to smell the market in Dakar, hear the voices of old friends sitting under the mango tree in the heat of the day and the scuttle of lizards in the rafters. The pull to write it all down again is very strong, and as much as I would like to ignore it, I cannot. I have unboxed the old photographs that I have stored away, gathered the fragments of writing I have written in the past decade and set them on my desk to wait for me each day when I get home from work.

I will spend the next hundred and eight days writing about Senegal, what I remember and what I don’t. I will write whatever comes up. I will be brave, and write through the parts that have always stopped me. I will write and let whatever comes up sit on these lines. I will not tear the pages out of my notebook and shred them. I will not throw away (again) the notebooks that I fill with thoughts, musing, and memories. I will just write. I might even share some of what I write. I make no promises, but I will try.



the simple math of eating

instant oatmeal falls
free from the torn pouch
to wait for boiling water
where ceramic curves
stuck in thick paste
to fight with the spoon

I want breakfast pie.
I want to live on
caffeine and mascara.
I want to forget the balanced meal
in the bottom of a wine bottle.
or ice cream tub

kettle whistling
breaks my reverie
one shoe sits forgotten
in the living room
my shirt is on inside out and backwards
judging by the reflection
in the microwave door

day’s end

Broken frames tilt
in staccato steps across the wall
corners separated,
paint chipped and fading
Hanging by wire and finishing nails

landscapes not been seen in decades
I watch them leading across the room
silent parade
to the gold dipped window glass
witness the end of another day.

river stones on the window sill
are a reminder of strength I never had
but wished for
drawn in white quartz lines running around
the edge of granite smoothed by water’s constant breath

I turn the switch of the milk glass lamp
let the soft light fall over me
my feet hang off the edge
toes barely touching hardwood
one push back and I fall

night steals long shadows
dresses them to dance
in corners and stairwells
while I wrestle with the day
still living in my head

sleep comes to curl up beside me
a dent on the pillow
while I stare at the ceiling
willing the space between
one breath and the next
to bring more than it does


la fraser
September 2017

I wanted silence

I wanted silence
after days of noise
and tears
instead of music
birdsong or

I wanted darkness
to sit on my chest
and suffocate me
squash the light
from the corners
of my closed eyes
instead of opening
my heart to the sun

I wanted nothing
to fill the hole
left by a life undone
empty cups of tea
unsent letters
forgotten dreams
instead of stepping up
arms wide to gather

but that is not
the way of things
not at all

day 7
Leigh-Anne Fraser
theme: the world

night rose

night rose
faint hint of gold
below gradient blue
trees still bare
snow melted still
on the wire
one last wintered gift
and I
I was lost
in memories
and wishes
what might come
and what will never
candle light
in mercury glass
frames the wondering
the hoping
the doubting
the wanting
the fear
the sorrow
the letting go
heart closed
I closed my eyes
prayed for sleep
and waited
for another
to arrive
day 6
Leigh-Anne Fraser
theme: page of cups

Patty Sue

you died
at the beginning of spring
I felt your passing
knowing without knowing
my heart ripped away
and thrown into darkness
I knew
felt your love around me
like hummingbird kisses
one day we will walk
on the beach together
hand in hand
sweet girl I miss you
like lungs miss air
you were there
when my world fell apart
and listened while tears
wore trenches in my skin
lifelines in petals
and leaves
I will hold you
in those beautiful moments
grateful to know
your magic
touched me
burning marks to my soul
to remind me
you live.

day 5
Leigh-Anne Fraser
theme: the magician


you are the smell of coffee
in the faint morning light
lavender violet clouds
drifting past the window
as I stir the cream
with a spoon

I forget to breathe
when I see you
the smile no longer
rumoured on my lips
my skin giggles from
the pores
and I blush
in spite of myself

you embrace me
like a wave on the shore
in moonlight
while stars dance above
and breezes whisper secrets
along the shorline

never let me go.

day 4
Leigh-Anne Fraser
theme: page of cups