Frida Kahlo and Me, by Diane Driedger

My Will Remains, by Diane Driedger (Canada) 2005

Frida Kahlo and Me 
 
my sister  Frida  your bed is my bed and your paintings wash over me  the veins of 
vines envelop your paintings the reds of the pigments speak to pain  you and I are bound 
by this pain  and no one can pronounce it valid or in-valid  you are the body on the  
page of history  I am the body on the altar of my life  chronic problems getting out of 
bed?  Taking a shower? Going to the grocery?  Reaching for a dish off the kitchen shelf? 
be a Frida  lie in you bed paint your world switch to the couch  read on your tiny 
altar am I lamb to be slaughtered or fattened in pain for a future meal of the universe? 
 
my sister  Frida  no one likes a malingerer  did you know that? did you fit their 
stereotype of the sick one? or  were you too vocal  to insistant on having the reds 
on the page?  you had a mustache  you were an androgynous figure in that bed 
except you painted your breasts with nails riddling your flesh   pain a crucifixion to bad taste 
 
I paint too  Frida   but my pictures are peaceful scenes of warm blues and comforting
greens  the sea  is my favorite place  its tide promising to take away all debris  once I
painted a fibromyalgia fog and scared myself into amnesia   my brush now paints little
flowers indolent with colours  avoiding red or the lightning flash of firing neurons  my
pain ting 
 
Diane Driedger

This poem was previously published in Diane Driedger's Red with Living: Poems and Art (Inanna, 2016).

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Frida Kahlo and Me, by Diane Driedger (Canada) 2005