ditch,

the poetry that matters

Alicia Marie Lawrence

Alicia Marie Lawrence has had her poetry published in Island Writer Magazine, The Acrobat, This Great Society, the I Write Because project, As/Us Journal, and ditch,. Her illustrations are included in The Holler Box Literary Magazine and Commas & Colons Literary Magazine. She lives in Victoria, B.C.

 

Violet Stars

 

His eyes went black as a Qur’anic night

Filled with violet stars

Like those that show while treading water and waiting

For a voice to answer

Even at being held so close

I knew I would leave

 

Hunger, heat, disease, I see

Tire rafts loaded with sacks of grain

Waist-high in tepid water, bare feet graze pebbles, gravel

Spills sharp from the shore

Shifting silt on the river floor

He tows cargo this way while

Monitor lizard speaks in silence about

Breathing in what is on the currents of the air

With the days that slip away, still losing the sun’s protection

 

He spelled his name, traced on my lips

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

To Theseus

 

A million years ago

He haunted me

A warm stare of shattered glass and fragile smile

Store counter as if a banquet table

Silent directive beneath casual words, Persephone, the exit that way

 

He is imprinted

In cold rags over skin and bone,

I watched him walk on earth

Dodge dark windows, trip security traplines,

Scare crows; they scattered

When he rolled back the sidewalk

To expose beneath the brick –

The towering watchers carved into the tops of stone buildings

Stopped dead in history

And let him pass

His tightrope on the painted crosswalk

 

I followed a million years forward guided by

Bought time, no lantern in hand,

To catch up with his soul

Ashen, I answer, Icarus, draw out this poison slow

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

L’Étoile

 

The French word, ‘étoile

Has a flirtatious roll off the tongue

Also a spiked accent that is unmistakable in its contrast, like the glint of shards of silver against the dark

Étoile’ from witchy Latin’s serpentine ‘stella

            Distinctly softened in the feminine ‘elle

 

The violet étoiles in his eyes

And those left hovering in the sky by dawn

When night was meant to be forgotten and wasn`t

All but these dissipated against a film of wounded feelings that plastered the walls inside

Made leaving as if even clothes would not protect skin from shame

 

By evening there will be a place to send lost wishes

Once caught and claimed though

Like cloaks too fine to wear

Hang on starlight

While searching the sky,

Someone who might

 

 

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                                                                                                               April 15, 2013