“Last Rites at the Garden Depot” by Elena Senechal-Becker
Poetry Pause is the League of Canadian Poets’ daily poetry dispatch. Read “Last Rites at the Garden Depot” by Elena Senechal-Becker.
Last Rites at the Garden Depot
By Elena Senechal-Becker
Thereโs a hole in the sidewalk next to where
your brotherโs ashes are buried. Right, I say,
someone was digging there. Itโs not unthinkable,
you think. There is something to get at. Something
to be got down there. Breathless from too nosy,
want what theyโve got. I rearrange my teeth
with my tongue. Holes donโt gape the way
they used to anymore. Itโs a sin. I take
the stalk, hand me the trowel. Lee Valley ass.
The Jekyll Weeder. Call it good boy so it doesnโt
move. Three-pronged dive into the dirt now.
Rough it out of the way. Gravel in your facemeat.
Sorry, I say, didnโt mean to. You always mean
the things you do. Yeah, youโre like that.
Burrowing now, my hand mole-rat quick
and naked too, searching landforms
for your ache. Boom, there it is. I found
something, a long seed. Molded to the
earth like a popping vein. High blood pressure
for my girl The Giving Ground. Preeclampsia,
sheโs about to yield for sure. Given the death
rate, we have shit to do. I palpate the seed
like mad, like palming a tree. Knot press โ
Iโm a masseuse, apparently. Pop goes
the weasel and suddenly the seed is out
of its sheath like a grapefruit vesicle.
It blinks once, slow as milk teeth,
then opens its mouth to cry.
Copyright ยฉ Elena Senechal-Becker
Elena Sรฉnรฉchal-Becker is a writer living in Montreal. Her work has appeared in CrabFat, Arc Poetry, BrokenPencil and others.
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