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