Lately I’ve been eating at Rothko Café,
face down at the bar, praying
for aspirin and coffee. Bolts
of vermilion stab my eyes,
between my temples rouge and blood contend.
I’m waiting for Rebbe Braun
to enter, cover me with his coat,
divide the deep
and from it form a place to stand.
Loam – sand my palate, dim my saffron,
I don’t need egg yolk.
Don’t give me bacon. Just let me roll
across some gold-flecked desert
old enough to dry my wet humors,
desiccate my wilting, fleshly self.
Born on a SAC base in Washington state, raised in Alabama, Holly Pettit
served as a Russian Linguist in Germany for the U.S. Army, graduated Harvard
Divinity School, and worked for the homeless community in Boston. She lives
in Littleton, Massachusetts.
Her poems have appeared in various periodicals such as
2RiverView,
Crania, and Portland's
Caffeine Destiny. Her poem, "Irkutsk" won first
prize in the 1st Annual Poetry competition of the e-zine
Tapestry. Links
to e-zines that feature her work can be accessed at:
http://www.geocities.com/athens/troy/4413/.