Frida

In the warm morning light,

the artist sits at her easel.

In constant dull pain,

she strokes the brush

loaded with vermillion, azure,

ebony, tourmaline.

Vivid life poured

onto canvas, a contrast

to the body

molded and tortured

within plaster casts.

Broken and reset,

the heart and bones

triumph before the burning

ascent to heaven.