Epithalamium
BY SHELLEY WONG
for Frida Kahlo
Lady, keep the tequila by your lamp for
when you need a knife. Dip the brush in
azul for feathers so a bird will fly
above your bed & you can wash away
the memory of his sweat, the taste
of hothouse flower women. Your whiteness
is twin: one side a mirror—see what
you are, the other a window, I have already
changed the sky. Girls are
stripping the petals, dusting their
tiny mouths with sugar & smashed
pecans. When you spin in your
white dress, greet the crowd with
your stained mouth. A dove
and an elephant, they murmur,
but you’re rewriting the song
into a jungle. Bring
out the longest rope & tie it
to him—say, I will look at you
until the blood runs out. This is when
the shadows start & you will
walk him back to the banquet,
knowing that what is colorless
is not innocent, nor safe.
