After the painting of the same title,
by Frida Kahlo (1907-1954)

The wings of her eyebrows invent
the flight of a seagull on her forehead.
In her eyes, dark lakes, there are remnants
of pains, fears, anxieties and nights.

Kahlo, with cuts that open in flesh,
leaving in sight the stream of blood,
braided here in the plait, a crimson root,
tangled in the vine of her hair.

The leaves bring green to the dark background,
a wall of the forest that did not survive –
the hands of the bush far from the mother-forest,
and the almost human hands of a monkey.

In his eyes the jungle still insists,
in the dense hiding place of the vulnerable.
Her eyes never dawn,
and in that night, her secret.

• Throne of weapons

• The light of the paint

• Still movement

• The gaze of the dwarf

• In the depth of the cloth

• At the margin

• The circle

• Ruins

• The burning house

• Plutôt oiseau que pájaro

• 22 June 1937

• Ship of several trees

• To read a language

• And Paris gave me birth

• Dead word

• My mother died in London

• It was my son, my father

• Living from glass

• Lesson on the beach