self-portrait as the two fridas

so now you seek to ask my heart

a storm of caesura and footsteps.

i tread into four rooms of valves;

fate strings on a white parquet.

on the dance floor are coined tiles—

two spearheads stamped in bas-relief.

between my arms is a furor of love,

alone and superimposed.

i want to ask if she was bright,

pale souls conversed skin-tight.

two broken creatures bent into one—

i want to say i am born whole on my own.

but i missed you, unbearably so.

i missed two, the red i sewed

between the neckline of past and present.

today i danced in my own arms,

twirled away blood of blue and olive,

the colors of the night flying on high.

i want life sutured under my thighs—

the breath of a woman reborn,

stuttering into silence.