.................................
Gnostic Ratatouille
.................................

Scattered upon a white plastic cutting
Board, garlic bulbs shed their concave
parchment skin to reveal a green-growing
secret -- a sprouting
kernel-heart.

If poked with a forefinger down
Into the ivy pot in the corner window they
Would shoot up by morning, arms
gliding, pulling through currents
Of air, reckoning angles of sun.

Plopped in the stew pot they will fair
little better than a lobster, (sensing, antenna buds
and claws boiled dead, floating.)
Remember the ESP experiments? Philodendrons,
Sansevieria, the ripping-apart room.... Closeted
plants faint when confronted, in clean white rooms
With plaid-shirted, khaki'ed, sap-fingered
shredders. Electrodes told that story. Now the paring
knife races to take it up. The mind broadcasts
steam, scalding, translucence, youth letting go all
possibility.

Watching. My hesitation. Ratatouille

Is not an humble meal for friends stamping off icey
boots in the dark front hall. The creator
god is a cruel one.

Open the wine. Wipe down
the glasses.

.................................
Holly Pettit
.................................

 
Copyright © Holly Pettit
November 1998

...a poem in this room by Scott Sweeney...
candy
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