My Mother as the Voice of Kahlo

I am fourteen & feeling ugly

looking at a unibrow like the one I’d like to get rid of

when my mother says

Yes it’s supposed to be a bird See she did it on purpose See she didn’t care

what people thought of her only what they were made of which animals were inside & why

Here she’s a stag in mid-leap

with nine arrows in her body alive bleeding

Her grief is constant & irreparable

Like the crown of fresh flowers she killed herself each day

See the instinct for painting is the instinct for power

Women don’t choose work over love but it’s not the same for men

See all men are in love with themselves Like Diego & your father

& even an artist will leave his wife behind

but he can’t if she’s both if she runs harder hunter & sacrifice