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Frida and I

September 18, 2008

Frida came today,
I felt her close to me,
her thick braids and
her solitary stare,
following me,
reminding me that in blood
there is creation,
hope,
a new day
and that I like her
need to follow my destiny,
create,
dream,
love Esteban
as she did Diego,
curse the unborn son
like she did day after day.

Frida came today,
she sat next to me
and I cried on her shoulder.
I told her of my pain,
of my dried pen,
of the solitary rivers,
of knowing that I exist
without wanting to exist,
of that hatred of my own reflection
day after day,
of knowing how to die
piece by piece.
And Frida embraced me,
she painted a new picture for me
filled with herself,
of her feminine strength,
of her forgotten self portraits,
of that eternal love for Diego,
of knowing she existed,
that she exists
and that she will never abandon me to oblivion.

Frida came today.

Gloria L. Velásquez

This poem is from I Used to be a Superwoman Chicana, Arte Publico Press (1997)
Velasquez is also the author of the Roosevelt High series, and Xicana on the Run.

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