ditch,

the poetry that matters

Lance La Rocque

Lance La Rocque currently lives in Wolfville, Nova Scotia and teaches at Acadia. His poems have appeared in Spudburn, Industrial Sabotage, Surreal Estate: 13 Canadian Poets Under the Influence, and the chapbook, The Gross Metaphysics of Meat (Proper tales Press).

Her Words

Her words to me

“creepy” and

“weird” unexpected weights

Alight on an unknown

inner skin—that bows

 in whispers—I thought was dead—

Two plump black birds

Fattening

Fashioning

The dark gifts

That they are.

 

 


Open

Since you’ve jimmied the door

again and again,

I don’t bother to lock it

or hide my things

or pretend they are mine.


 

 

Dwarf

I am born into this

dwarf.

Alit on foreign skin

and bones.

‘How unfortunately sculpted the flesh.’

Its design: to assail the eye

like some ungodly, drooling, breed

of dog,

strained pelt

over dark nylons.

I alit here.

I alit here.

Do you hear?

And my project is my burden

to make you

 

Believe it

 

And to make war.

Arm against arm.


 

 

Emily, I Do Not Have

 

Emily,

Your voice sails

Over my head

And circles back

Like a little bird

With sharp black eyes

And a ruthless beak

 

Sinking the needle unselfconsciously into my ear

For blood or worms.

For some visceral gem

I claim not to have

Or would not reveal.

 

 

 

Each Child Hung Up

 

each child

must be 

hung up

in the closet 

to dry.

one by one

neck in the hanger

dangling 

in the musty air

like 

last year’s garment.

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