After Self Portrait as a Tehuana, by Frida Kahlo (Mexico) 1943
Your image burns through my skin – it is incised on my skull - it sears my brain. The iron rod that pierced my womb is as nothing compared to the sword you twisted in my heart, holding it up, blood still dripping, to the gods. I am an icon, a sacrifice shrouded in lace. Lovers in past lives, we are compelled to work out our destiny, a battle to this death and the next. I have you now as I never did in life. Soon we will dance on the Day of the Dead, and you will lay on my altar morphine, tequila, and marigolds.
Frida Kahlo wrote: There have been two great accidents in my life. One was the trolley and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst. She died aged 47, perhaps of an intended or unintended morphine overdose. The last words in her diary were: I hope exit is joyful and I hope never to come back.
Sue Mackrell lives in Leicester, UK, where she was fortunate enough to witness first-hand the discovery and reinterment of Richard III. Her poems, short stories and non-fiction historical pieces have been published online and in print including in Bloody Amazing, which won the Saboteur Award for Best Anthology 2021. As lockdown restrictions ease she is looking forward to visiting galleries and museums again; a disappointment last year was missing the Paula Rego retrospective at Tate Britain.
The Ekphrastic Review
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