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.
6
favs
1126 views
13 comments
49 words
All rights reserved.
Author's Note
Thanks to editor Ellen Clay for publishing "Frida Wonders..." in the latest issue of The Prose-Poem Project.
The teaser on the front page does not do this justice. Marvelous images, especially when the references are known.
Thanks, James, for the kind words and the star.
Beautiful words. For me, especially the "shawl of inked birds' wings".
Thanks, Carol, for the beautiful words--from you to me.
Good ekphrastic piece, Tina. Although the piece is compressed, the imagery is sharp and clear. No wasted words. Nice work.
Thanks, Sam. You made my day.
This is gorgeous the way Frida's paintings are.
*
Thank you, Susan!
This is beautiful. *
Spare and complete. Nice work, Tina.
Thank you so much, JP and Harley. And Harley, welcome to Fictionaut.
Most prose poems aren't. This is.
I especially like the movement here.
"Paint the truth, Frida. Hearts are deaf to incantations."
*
Thanks, Bill. Glad my poem "is".