local_library Wash, Dry Rub

by Holly Frances Pettit

Published in Issue No. 27 ~ August, 1999

Lately I’ve been eating at Rothko CafĂ©,
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.

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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/.