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?