I threw down the dusty bag untied the cord and pulled the fabric wide golden face of the sun, white orchids and blue morphos greeted me, a whisper of what remains unsaid old photographs, half-finished stories, unsent letters fill the darker folded corners and I, I am left still looking to see if I have anything to say ~ la 2020
It seems like a lifetime ago now, but it has only been ten years since my last birthday project when I wrote forty stories before I turned forty. To honour my fiftieth birthday next month, I decided I would put a gallery together of fifty pieces of art that I created before I turned the ‘big 5-0’. My hope, plan, loosely put together plan for this year is to create more space and time to get back to the brush, back to clay and stone, back to pen/pencil and paper. It is not certainly because I stopped being creative. I think would find a way even if my arms fell off to create art, but my intention is to do more.
My oldest, Andrew, is finishing up their BFA at Western University this year. I will admit that I have lived vicariously over the years of their time at Western and I have learned from what they have shared with me. One of the more challenging pieces I have learned this year (and have not yet attempted) is a formula for writing an artist statement. In fact, it is a series of questions that can be answered to create the statement.
Perhaps this is my next task after sharing the gallery. I will try to tackle answering these questions in a more intelligent way than current response: Gah! I don’t know.
In the meantime, fifty pieces of me:
I did not ask After the sun had left For anything Not in the darkness Or the darkest part of the night As the rain fell outside And sirens wailed Somewhere in the streets I did not ask one word In the stillness Within the walls of Concrete and plaster But I lay within listening To the wind dance With autumn raindrops Waiting for sleep to steal in Between one breath and the next The weight of knowing Like pouring honey over A hornets’ nest until no longer Can I stay in place To receive the consequence Or help those Who must bear it I should have asked To be taken Like a leaf newly turned Dropped from the limb Swept up from the ground By the wind then left Plastered by the rain On some other window Waiting to be seen To be discovered in time Then discarded long enough To return to the soil I know well I should have asked To scream my silence Pierce the night Until dawn broke in And let the light reveal As it could I should have But could not Instead in the darkness Waiting Wrapped in blankets against the chill I listen to the rainfall And imagine parts of me Washing away with it Into the deep night Hoping dreams Will take me there ~
writing poetry in the waiting room worn seats in lines bland taupe comfortless oblivious to the pain and discomfort of others I wait for my child’s return alone in a quiet corner somewhere a doctor watches over them does what I cannot do heal, find answers or more questions all I can do is wait to see what will unfold within the walls and pray the discharge may bring nothing but relief a familiar bed a hot meal fresh clothes a cup of tea all of which I long for sitting with the stench of vomit and creeping malaise every emergency room the same those who vomit blood sit next to the short of breath the anxious mothers daughters, fathers and brothers a nurse washes spittle from the window around her desk a woman with a broken foot and a scorpion tattoo on her neck swears at the wait time a ninth ambulance rolls in and we wait together under the silent flashes of the televisions hanging on wall high and out of reachÂ
Day 30
you will always
be safe with me
to unload your heart
on a sea of tears
or to rage
in the last few hours of the day
to laugh through the veil
to question and share
moments of doubt
of fear
of uncertainty
of relief
of joy
of quiet stillness
you will always be safe
with me
because I love you
without condition
or restriction
I love you
like the sea loves the shore
like the cloud loves the sky
like the tree loves the forest
like the stone loves the river
like the bird loves the wind
You will always
be safe
with me
to just be you.
always
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 29
I lost three days
like pennies
falling out of my pocket
I have no idea
where they have gone
If I wore proper glasses
I could look
in the folds for them
under the cushions
in the corners
turn the living room
upside down
but they are gone
leaving my heart heavy
and head bewildered
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 28
spring drips cherry blossoms
through branches kissed by morning
in the light I’m free
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 27
waves move to the shore
find me in tiny pieces
like sand in the wind
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 26
fragile
like dried clay
crushed against itself
for years
I breathe
through
until daylight
shines
like I do
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 25
heavy rain and bird song
another spring morning
outside the window
another day waiting to unfold
from the quiet pause
breathing I try to keep
thoughts from intruding
from creating ripples
even for just a moment
before I leave through
the front door
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 24
II
fever crept in
while I sat at my desk
the not so subtle reminder
my body will fail me
in spite of my will
to avoid
finish out the day
it is all I can do
still feeling guilty
for not being able
to work longer
I slept in the chair
when I arrived home
food a dare I could not face
I forgot to turn on
the lights before closing my eyes
the sun has set
without me knowing
plunging the room
into darkness
the fever brings unwelcome friends
the body rebels
and succumbs
I move in so few places
I know where I found it first
not that it matters
sickness is isolating
like the weather
it will pass
I will be lighter for it
in the meantime
I let go
hoping for the morning
to be gentle
and kind
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
Day 23
I
coming home
we did not meet here
at the corner
waiting for the light
to turn
caught up in the rush
to return home
after a long work day
bumper to bumper
the bus pulls
to the curb
one empty seat
becomes home
for twenty minutes
horn blares
the driver yells
not seeing the flashing lights
in front
the hurry to beat the bus
blinded him
it’s how people die
in this city
because someone can’t see
they are sitting in the same boat
watching the struggle
to bail out the water
filling the end with the holes
I pull the cord for my stop
finish the hour
by making tea
and listening
to day stories told
to me by offspring
then at long last
I will lay in the darkness
and listen
to the night breathe
~
#napowrimo2019
#poetry
lei fraser 