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Frida Kahlo

By Daniela Hernandez

  1. Seeing Stars
    Seeing Stars
    By Daniela Hernandez
had the coroner opened her body, he would have seen her body split cleanly between a motley of ribbons tangled between the bones of the ribcage and mosaic-spotted butterflies tumbled out of her blueberry-stained lips, but the other was satin-soft and stuffed with pearls, gossamer wrapped her vital organs and made them shine, like an echo of a rustic disco ball draped in delicacies of sorts. both of the sides were joined by rusted iron vertebrae and the coroner could almost hear the bone marrow running through it, a white sheet mummified her like a pharaoh rather than a corpse.

she lives in the blue house now, her hair festooned in dahlias and hummingbirds as she dips her pain not in acrylic, but ink. black as her hair and brows in order to invent new verbs to whisper to a lover: i sky you. that way, she can extend and be infinite, to love infinitely. her lover holds her tight and a ring is not a pretty thing but a tag where their lives intertwined and people chant—diego, diego, diego—the name cascading over her like a cape. she suffocates.
she groans and gives birth, a moment with blood-slicked thighs and high-pitched wails. she gives birth to an emerald parrot that only mocks her. she paints herself not because she is alone, but because she is her muse. the subject she knows best and wants to better. diego paints murals.


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