Frida Kahlo in the Forest with Snowfall

Wearing only high heels and a skirt of bananas,
I walked into the winter forest,
Which I imagined would be gilded
With the final sunlight of a day spent dreaming.

The problem was the day itself, gray and flat,
The color of a landau top on an idling hearse
Or ankle chains hanging in a warden’s office.
Delicate snow began to fall instead,

And with feigned romance kissed my cheeks.
The air between the cedars alive
With clarity, like the aria of some divine soprano
Trapped in a wishing well looking at the stars.

Soon I was lost, trapped like shadows, like ice.
I had nothing to eat, save some bread crusts
Which by then were soaked in blood.
I sat on a stump to eat them.

The stump had rings left by the glass
Of a pompous king. Discontent, melancholy,
I longed for the company of anyone,
Even a cigar-smoking monkey that knew a few signs.

I wandered many nights through the blizzard.
Once, glinting in the clouds, there was a beautiful woman.
I climbed a pine, which leaned down to the ground
Under my weight. It was an illusion; she was a trick of the light.

When I jumped off, it catapulted a mourning dove into the snow.
That same snow was melting on a gum eraser
I molded into a pocket watch like the one
Given to me by my father, a traveling salesman who hated crowds.

But still, I was always alone, unaware of the time.
This was after all white country, which was not privy
To a muddy impression of a woman’s foot by the stream.
It immediately tried to cover it up with blankets.

Whether I was kept in the sights of some bearded hunter
I will have only to speculate; his camouflage may
Have been so precise and convincing,
I did not even notice his breath on my neck.