Poem
Pascale Petit
Roots
Roots
Roots
I’ve come to lie on the basalt plainwhere the earth is trying to heal itself,
to peer down a rift in the mantle
when the pain gets white, keep looking
until my chest blisters – right down
where a roiling valve beats like a heart
and my own heart bubbles.
The threads of my dress
spit and snarl. I soothe them.
I calm sun flares, plasma storms.
And on the cloth of fire I draw vines.
They shoot out from my hollows –
leaves large as hands
that stroke the wound of my land.
© 2010, Pascale Petit
From: What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo
Publisher: Seren, Bridgend
From: What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo
Publisher: Seren, Bridgend
Pascale Petit
(France, )
Pascale Petit was born in Paris, grew up in France and Wales and lives in Cornwall. She is of French/Welsh/Indian heritage. Her eighth collection, Tiger Girl, from Bloodaxe in 2020, was shortlisted for the Forward Prize for Best Collection, and a poem from the book won the Keats-Shelley Poetry Prize. Her poems have been broadcast on BBC Radio 3 and 4, The Poetry Archive and Australia’s ABC Radi...
Poems
Poems of Pascale Petit
Close
Roots
I’ve come to lie on the basalt plainwhere the earth is trying to heal itself,
to peer down a rift in the mantle
when the pain gets white, keep looking
until my chest blisters – right down
where a roiling valve beats like a heart
and my own heart bubbles.
The threads of my dress
spit and snarl. I soothe them.
I calm sun flares, plasma storms.
And on the cloth of fire I draw vines.
They shoot out from my hollows –
leaves large as hands
that stroke the wound of my land.
From: What the Water Gave Me: Poems after Frida Kahlo
Roots
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère