The Fat Man's Third Wife

I am the fat man's third wife.

El gordo. Panzon!

I was forever being

crushed beneath

the mountain of his lusts,

women and brush strokes ,

the revolution.

They say

it was like an elephant

married to a dove.

Imagine, me,

a dove!

Ridículo!

I am a brighter

plumed bird.

I am like Mexico.

It is a loud sadness,

one that smiles big with teeth,

drinks, dances, shrills

and stomps, whirling.

I wear colorful costumes

to máscara de mi dolor,

my skeleton is held together

by metal, and machines,

stitches, surgeons. I paint

myself in pieces and intact.

I paint the pain. I trap it

on my canvas

and make a face, stick out

my tongue. I paint myself

hairy like a little monkey.

I am beautiful, and hairy

like a little monkey.

He is like the world

I longed to see. It's not

the place to live

in peace. He is like

a revolution, a people

marching inside a person.

He can't be still, and it's not

his hands that do

the devil's work. It's the paint

and the pinga.

We connected

my Mexico to his world.

The bridge is built of love.

It's a small bridge.