Nevelson, architect of blackness,
Mozart’s Queen of the Night
Sings her impossible arias
In dark composition that soar.
“Black is not absence,
but the sum of all color.” Her words.
From Manhattan rubbish
She builds baroque
Cathedrals that reach for
the infinite opera.
In a spot of color
you found the image
Art fused with broken spine
mended in a purgatory of remorse.
Hair sacrificed to lovers,
a sister your husband
on canvas you wear Diego’s suit
and you own it.
When your soul was shoved into hard barren earth
you painted green leaves, blood stains
lost pregnancies and monkeys
your landscape vivid, thick as your honest eyebrows,
dark, rich as the sweet odor of Mexican soil.
Images strong as you weaken.
Pain intrudes, splits your portrait in two,
one the loved other, unloved.
Wounded body and bruised heart.
Skulls in a miniature landscape
carved into a forehead of dreams.
A world found in each canvas,
its horror and its beauty.