Separation
the painting i used, by frida kahlo: http://www.mart.trento.it/UploadImgs/1127_11__Kahlo___Il_piccolo_cervo.jpg
Not remote at all, but a short distance from her:
there, all is blue and quiet.
Silent sky could blur so easily
with the passive sea.
But they are separate, split to two
by the earth’s curvature, that sharp horizon.
She dotes on it, that cutting clarity so different
from her confusion. Better to see out
than see herself.
Antlers like trees in a forest that weeps
and ears behind ears hearing nothing in the silent woods.
Face of a woman once beautiful with eyes
unfocused not caring what happens to her deer’s body
punctured completely by arrows.
Or is it an ass’s?
Her fur sticky like honey with blood
but her lips unparted,
no release of anguish, no twist of recognition.
A sharp horizon separates them.
(sonnet form)
She stands a distance from the shore. It’s there
that sky and sea do nearly meet in smut
of quiet blue. But never so, not where
the curving earth and sharp horizon cut
apart the two. But on that line she dotes,
a clarity that blurs the weight of sight.
It helps to blind her. She never notes
the pain of her identity, a plight
so seemingly apparent. Sticky pelt
like honey, blood instead does mat it down.
Her body twisted, punctured, never felt
the arrows enter. Deer or Woman?
Composure, strange to be seen on her face.
Horizon steady ‘tween her lips, no space.
