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May 15 - Mary Julia

May 15

Diego,

It is daylight now. The crickets have gone. Bird songs fill the air. They stop singing only when someone approaches my house and that has not happened this morning. Somewhere to the east, I hear pigeons. Diego, it is a soft song. Here in my bed, the color red keeps flowing from my body. I cannot stop it. My hands rest, one on top of the other, over my chest. Under the nails, red has crusted to brown. In the night, while I was searching for you in my dream, my hands went down to try to hold back this terrible thing. Now they too have given up. Nothing in my room moves, except the muscle that is my heart–pushing against the hands–and underneath me, a red stain seeps slowly across the sheet. A spider comes up over the side of the bed–my hands are startled–they fly up. I think that it does not matter what this spider does–I am not going to get up whole. I watch him approach the red part of the sheet. Secretly, I hope he drowns. He sees that it is of no use–turns, goes back down the side of the bed. Where are you, Diego?  If I were stronger, I would put on my new dress–do my hair with roses from the garden–I would find you, even if I had to knock on the door of every woman whose husband has left her unguarded. Somewhere in a darkened corner on a filthy mattress, you are behaving like a dog. And when I find you, I will sink my teeth into your chest and hang on until the pain that is caught inside of me flows out of my body into yours–then I will let go, Diego, and I will walk away.

Love,

Frida

Mary Julia Klimenko c.2010


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