Frida Explains Herself
Because I held that crescent child,
sliver of a life, but could not
keep him. Tried to memorize
his silent mouth, trace the
blue waters through his parchment skin.
Because I smelled Diego
on my sister’s neck, so familiar
yet unplaceable for a moment:
our blankets, peppery scent
of his hair, the paint under his fingernails.
Because I have dug into my lovers,
a robber sifting dirt
of their stories, collecting
artifacts from their rawest places.
Because I have been asked for
so much of my blood.
I did not know myself until
I found us there on canvas.
Broken. Together. A map
I had not seen, yet knew
to be my way home.
Stacy Boe Miller
Stacy Boe Miller is an artist, mother, and second year poetry candidate in the MFA Creative Writing program at the University of Idaho. Her most recent work can be found in Mary Jane's Farm Magazine, The Pacific Northwest Inlander, and Mothers Always Write, where an essay of hers was recently nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
The Ekphrastic Review
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