Fifty poems by Pascale Petit published by Seren in June 2010
“A dazzling and kaleidoscopic look at one of the greatest artists in the world, by Pascale Petit, who is a truly remarkable poet.” amazon.co.uk
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|The Wounded Deer
I have a woman's face
but I'm a little stag,
because I had the balls
to come this far into the forest,
to where the trees are broken.
The nine points of my antlers
with the nine arrows in my hide.
I can hear the bone-saw
in the ocean on the horizon.
I emerged from the waters
of the Hospital for Special Surgery.
It had deep blue under-rooms.
And once, when I opened my eyes
too quickly after the graft,
I could see right through
all the glass ceilings,
up to where lightning forked
across the New York sky
like the antlers of sky-deer,
rain arrowing the herd.
Small and dainty as I am
I escaped into this canvas,
where I look back at you
in your steel corset, painting
the last splash on my hoof.
|Remembrance of an Open Wound
Whenever we make love, you say
it's like fucking a crash -
I bring the bus with me into the bedroom.
There's a lull, like before the fire brigade
arrives, flames licking the soles
of our feet. Neither of us knows
when the petrol tank will explode.
You say I've decorated my house
to recreate the accident -
my skeleton wired with fireworks,
my menagerie flinging air about.
You look at me in my gold underwear -
a crone of sixteen, who lost
her virginity to a lightning bolt.
I didn't expect love to feel like this -
you holding me down with your knee,
wrenching the steel rod from my charred body
quickly, kindly, setting me free.
|What the Water Gave Me II
The water opened
into the vortex of my daughter's face.
Her skin was a rippled mirror.
She was wearing the bath around her
like a dress of glistening scales.
She was my fish-flower.
I floated on her tongue
like the word 'Mama'.