to paint a heart than blue-veined and honest in its ugliness. She's changed leaves to emeralds.Worn a shawl of inked birds' wings. Yet Diego dreams:a tangle of porcelain arms. Brittle twigs weaken in a plaster tomb. Paint the truth, Frida. Hearts are deaf to incantations.
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Thanks to editor Ellen Clay for publishing "Frida Wonders..." in the latest issue of The Prose-Poem Project.