still has the price tag on the back
neon orange sticker
warning me
that for a $1.99
broken
wounded lines
will scatter themselves
in black ink
visible in the sunlight
scrawled over
torn pages
until the crisp cover
is worn
down
a hundred days of verse
upturned
by the rage of existence
separate me from the stones
rolling in shallow river water
set me heavy
against the current
until I am smooth
from the turning
you will be
the only witness
catching drops in the creases
hidden beneath to cover
fingertips reaching out
to hold what cannot
be touched
keeper now
between two pale cards
like cupped hands
drinking
along the riverbank
balanced
on the
edge
toes grip the sand
drink deeply
before letting go
once more
make room for more
more stones
broken wings
tears
laughter
sunlight dancing in the ripples
I watched you go
with the clouds
another storm passing
wind bending
the trees low
tearing the earth
like paper
until
stillness stumbles in
held my breath long enough
before going under
turn the page
to write I love you
the poetry of
wildflowers
caught in the reeds.
~
la 2020
I wake before the sun again
listen to the passing train wind its way
into the city
through the trees and sleeping streets
to greet the downtown
blue-violet sky not ready yet
to welcome the soft pale pink tendrils
of morning into its grasp
pull the blankets around me against the chill
a few moments longer
I left the window open
frosted-night breeze slipped in to remind
my hand lies empty in the darkness
calling to you to hold it
while the rest of me falls away
silence sits heavy on me
can't move until the next breath
or the next in between
waiting
not ready to let go
sheets and blankets tangled limbs
stumble to the kitchen for coffee
I watched through the glass
another day unfolds itself
to steady march across treetops
until blue-violet night unrolls again
to fill the frame
~
la 2020
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.
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 reach
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
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
~
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
~
lei fraser 