Emerging

Photography by Lisa Mabey






Today, at the public pool edge
a fleeting reminder of who you once were --
golden haired cherub in ruffled daffodil-yellow swim suit,
precariously teetering on the edge.

No longer infant yet not quite child
rounded, soft, with her
eyes wide open and heart untouched
by pain of knowledge or experience.
Touching and trying with a tiptoed courage
and insatiable appetite for all things new,
a fearless explorer with Daddy trailing behind.

Only yesterday this was you…
Darting out in ever widening circles into the world,
then back to hold tight to my hand.


I want to breathe this moment deep into my lungs…


… savor the taste with my eyes.


Lesley-Anne Evans
November 2009

Child of Darfur

There are six things a child’s eyes should not see, seven that break the heart of God --

Mother, large with child, shot dead and
sand drifting over the still smoldering village.
The last piece of bread.
The loss of all comfort -- and a culture.
The stiff back of the world.
The death of hope.

My faith without action.

Lesley-Anne Evans
September 2009

Photography by Mia Farrow, 'Darfur child traumatized baby', from www.miafarrow.org.

Out of my depth

I’m standing on the gravel shore, yelling,
waving madly with both arms,
me -- middle aged mom in large sunglasses
anxious at the sight of you
drifting just outside the bouys.

It’s not that far, I could wade to where you are,
or maybe swim the last few meters…
I'm pretty certain I could, if necessary.

Still, an instinctual flush of hot danger grasps my throat
and launches me from lawn chair to water’s edge,
exposing my maternal obsession and modestly clad flesh
to the beach crowd.

Lesley-Anne Evans
August 2009

Pink Warrior

Girl in the fuscia raincoat
twirling at the top of the playground hill…
Round and round, eyes closed

(fully in the moment), until
he advances up the slope
guns blazing.

Fists clenched, you
stand your ground and
force his retreat.

Warrior princess of the school yard
you spin around again,
a vision of victory

while your pastel clad playmates
run screaming
for a teacher.

Lesley-Anne Evans
Fall 2008