March 2022

Back to Issue 11


By Peter Mitchell

after Me and My Parrots, Frida Kahlo, 1941



On the roof of La Casa Azul, you sit, your eyes audacious black 

honey. You gaze on the Colonia del Carmen neighbourhood below.


                        You scan these streets as neighbours argue,

            vendors spruik food & wares

                                                & children play football 

                                                            under message trees: 

                        all communities of fealty to you.


     Your father’s death was a fiery sun, 

          your physical pains 

                                    heated knife points,

                    yet your canvases 

       bristled wounded fires,


                                        flames that were loyal to your

                                                                        heart & soul.



  Your light and fluid 

brushstrokes are homage

                        to your parrots: intimates,


their eyes hot opals.

            They live with your infernos.

            You live by their feather-protection.


How did you fly

                        your sequined ways

            to the vault of allegiance together?