Ajar by Margo LaPierre | The Miramichi Reader

Margo LaPierre’s latest poetry collection, Ajar is a remarkable and courageous exploration of mental illness, trauma and survival through a distinctly poetic lens. From the very first glance, the book captivates readers with its gorgeous, evocative cover, an image that feels like a visual invitation into the vivid and deeply intimate world within. Yet what lies beyond the cover is just as compelling: a collection of poems that explore, with unwavering honesty, the lived experience of bipolar disorder, psychosis and the journey of healing from gendered violence.

Through her meticulous use of language, she captures not only what it means to live with mental illness but also what it means to survive and, at times, transcend it.

LaPierre’s poetic voice is bold, rich in metaphor and emotionally resonant. She writes with both clarity and complexity, offering readers a window into moments of profound vulnerability and transformation. Through her meticulous use of language, she captures not only what it means to live with mental illness but also what it means to survive and, at times, transcend it. Her use of simile, metaphor, and sensory imagery is both evocative and original. In one particularly striking example, she writes:

“The grapefruit is heavy as a breast in my hands, at the sink faucet’s stream. I am here, weighing the thin chain of my life and washing my breakfast.”

In these lines, a simple daily routine is filled with feelings and deeper thoughts about life. Everyday details combined with thought-provoking ideas are a consistent strength throughout the collection.

LaPierre also offers profound insights into the experience of psychosis and altered states of perception.

Psychosis is a living metaphor. Late at night, the walls emanate radio music. 
Patterns erupt like nerves.

Here, she captures the disorienting beauty and unease of a mind where perception is heightened and brimming with metaphorical resonance. These lines aren’t just descriptions; they are experiences, visceral and immediate, inviting the reader to inhabit the poet’s world, even if only briefly.

Time flattens. 
Medication insulates the raw copper wire

is just one example of how she articulates the simultaneous dulling and volatility that can accompany psychiatric treatment.

One theme in Ajar is the tension between healing and harm within institutional settings. Some of the poems reveal the often-dehumanizing experience of being treated not as a whole person, but as a diagnosis. The poem Harm Done describing an encounter with a nurse is particularly haunting:

A nurse with contempt 
in his veins… 

I was alone with him
in a small, dim room. He told me 
if I’d really wanted to kill myself, 
I would’ve used / [blank] instead.

This stark moment speaks volumes about how those in crisis can be belittled or dismissed by the very systems meant to help them.

Even in the most sterile or clinical moments, LaPierre resists sentimentality, opting instead for poetic clarity that strikes deeply. She writes, “A doctor informs me acetaminophen death is excruciating, that organ shutdown takes days to kick in.” With powerful imagery, she portrays how even life-and-death matters are handled with a dispassionate detachment in these spaces. Yet amid this coldness, LaPierre’s voice remains warm and compassionate.

The body, in LaPierre’s work, is a recurrent site of both trauma and resilience. In poems such as “Hysterosonogram,” she fuses lyrical beauty with clinical intrusion.

Their questions of my history make me
red with light inside. It aches. 
I wear a sheet while the doctor 
inserts a catheter, balloon

invokes an image that is at once moving and invasive. These lines expose the vulnerability of being examined or dismissed both medically and socially. The emotional landscape of this poetry is intense, but never overwhelming; LaPierre crafts her images with sensitivity that invites discomfort without sensationalizing it.

What distinguishes Ajar from other collections dealing with similar themes is LaPierre’s ability to handle complex emotional material with both poetic sophistication and honesty. How she uses the interplay of the body, mind and languages—clinical, lyrical and colloquial—to transform personal memory into poetry is nothing short of brilliant.

Titles throughout the collection are subtly crafted, providing poetic insight into the thematic core of each piece. They function not merely as labels but as doors (like the title of the collection) into each poem’s internal world; they are small poems in and of themselves. This attention to structure and form is just one more indication of the book’s overall poetic achievement.

Ultimately, Ajar is more than a collection of poems. It is a work of art that challenges, comforts and inspires. LaPierre’s writing may at times feel intensely personal, yet that intimacy is also what gives her work its power. She offers her readers not only beautifully rendered poems but also a deep sense of connection, especially for those who have experienced mental illness, trauma or marginalization. For others, her work fosters understanding.

A compelling and brave work, Ajar is a vital contribution to contemporary poetry and to the ongoing conversation around mental health, gender, healing and, above all, hope.

Ultimately, Ajar is more than a collection of poems. It is a work of art that challenges, comforts and inspires.

Margo LaPierre is a writer and freelance literary editor. With multi-genre work published in The Ex-Puritan, CV2, Room, PRISM, and Arc, among others, she has won national awards for her poetry, fiction, and editing. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from UBC. Ajar is her second poetry collection.

Publisher: Guernica Editions (October 31, 2025)
Paperback 8″ x 5″ | 85 pages
ISBN: 9781771839884

Sonia Saikaley

Website

Sonia Saikaley was born and raised in Ottawa. Her first book, The Lebanese Dishwasher, co-won the 2012 Ken Klonsky Novella Contest. She has two poetry collections Turkish Delight, Montreal Winter and A Samurai’s Pink House. Her novel The Allspice Bath was the 2020 IPPY Gold Medal winner and the 2020 International Book Awards winner for Multicultural Fiction and a finalist in the 2020 Ottawa Book Awards. She is a graduate of the University of Ottawa and the Humber School for Writers. Her first children’s picture book Samantha’s Sandwich Stand was published by Renaissance Press in 2021. In the past, she lived and worked in the Miyagi Prefecture through the Japan Exchange and Teaching (JET) Programme.