Absence Lies

Absence lies at the heart of everything.

These green mountains rose up to define

an eddy of sky and oxygen. Birds sing

 

to help us hear the silence. I find

myself looking for something that’s gone.

These green mountains rose up to define

 

an empty space, the echo of a silent koan.

In the mirror of the thinnest moon, I see

myself looking for something that’s gone.

 

The stars map out a million ways to be

the person who embraces wind and snow.

In the mirror of the thinnest moon, I see

 

the one who can endure what she can’t know.

I dive into the night, in dreams pursue

the person who embraces wind and snow.

 

But in my heart and eyes I carry song,

an eddy of sky and oxygen. Birds sing

the night to teach me what was wrong:

Absence lies at the heart of everything.

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Self-Portrait as The Two Fridas (1939)

I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone.

                                                                                                                        Frida Kahlo

 In my self-portrait, I want to be truly alone,

 me with me, holding hands with myself,

both my hearts exposed. I want to show

the self who loves and is the loved, and the self

who wants to cut out hearts with a pair

of scissors. The one who wears casual blue,

an old, brown skirt, she doesn’t care;

the other  who wears a wedding dress, with a too

tight collar, strangled. I don’t want that. I

want what I want:  the self, exposed, the shimmer

of two gray storm clouds, my hand holding my

very own hand. I want the blank canvas and the mirror.

I want to show everyone the me I thought I saw,

the self-portrait as judgment: scathing and raw.

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