Poems of the Month Program
Poems Selected by John Steffler
The Frame
by Linda Frank
People thought I was a Surrealist. That’s not right. |
- Frida Kahlo, 1938
This is the painting they buy
to put in the Louvre in Paris
this stinking city of philistines
this city of self-serving fakes
They put my jeweled hand on the cover
of Vogue, they design a ‘robe Mme Rivera’
in my honour. To hell with Breton
and this lousy place. These French
‘intellectual’ artists disgust me
I’d rather sit on the floor in the market of Toluca
and sell tortillas than have anything to do
with those “artistic” bitches of Paris
Miró hugs me. Kandinsky kisses me
Picasso gives me a gift of earrings, beautiful
tortoise shell hands with gold cuffs. But to Breton
and the others I am a Mexican trophy
Only a woman could embody their exotic idea
of Mexico. Patronizing bastards
I am not crafting a decorative object
Look closely. The periphery becomes
more intricate, the boundary more vivid
than the woman in the centre
who is no longer fully there
This is what a woman
looks like when she is vanishing
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