Monday Poem


Frida Kahlo’s Brows
Jim Culleny

Who would not be blown away
by Frida Kahlo’s brows?

They soar over her eyes like a crow
broad      black      wings      spread

two hooded planets in its grip
scanning for a place to light and dine

the back-to-back parentheses of her nose
poised beneath, but above the pursed lips
of a rose

From portrait to portrait they fly
within the riveted space
of Kahlo’s face, changeless
as a signature

“This is me, Frida,”
they say. “This black crow
is my revelation to you

This raven mark is the sign of a Mexican girl
who realized her peculiar beauty with
bristles of brushes in odors of oil

“Once you see these brows,” says Frida,
“I will be indelible. My brows
will be stamped in your mind’s eye
until the day their pigments die
or till the descent of a crow
cradling two eyes in its claws
becomes impossible because
all the thoughtful will have