Frida's Body by Jacob Ramirez
Under the clouds
born of jungle
the wind whips
her hair.
The parrots
plant seeds
of orchids
and poppies
and pineapple
Sage.
It is raining.
Her tears
cure the cactus,
pale and sag
with withering.
Her water
washes
the blood
of an afterbirth,
the bowl
a bouquet
of dahlias.
Toucans
lift her
spine,
a horizon
of bone.
And here
her breath
calls in hunt
for mate
like coyotes
in Coyoacan
who snarl
at dead fish.
Her breasts
sit halved
like lemons
in the sun,
rotting
in the stomach
of the light.
Her acids
seduce
new lovers.
Her ovaries
harmonize
a requiem
of mourning.
Black doves
descend
on her eggs
translucent
against
the moon.
And here
the wind
whistles through
her carcass,
ribs spread
under the heavens.
Jacob Ramirez is a poet and educator originating from Merced, California. He is the recipient of the University of Lancaster’s Portfolio Prize where he earned his MA in Creative Writing. His poetry features in The BreakBeat Poets Vol. 4 LatiNEXT (Haymarket Books). He is currently at work on his first manuscript. He lives in Sonoma County with his wife, two children, and cat.