Consumed by Pain
These past days I have been thinking of death. The image
of the skull and crossbones has settled on my forehead
between my furrowed eyebrows, a window I don’t want
to open. Yet I stand before the tree of life, its thick and
thorny veins injecting energy through its dark green leaves.
I wonder how much longer I can endure this pain that ties
me to my bed with iron-made chains like the iron handrail
that impaled me through my pelvis on that bus ride years
ago. I wonder how much longer I can endure a life without
living, a life in this barren body of mine.
Perhaps death is the answer. Perhaps death will set me free.
Pensando en la Muerte (Thinking about Death), by Frida Kahlo, 1943.
A storm is blows up inside you. Gusty
winds roar through your ears, while
monsoon rains flood in between your
bones and boiling blood, after lightning
bolts have struck your heart. Staying still,
you are paralyzed by the shock.
Sitting next to you on a bench in the park, I hold
your hands. Now, your winds, your rains,
your lightning strikes are also mine. From
your chest through my chest, then out,
a grey cloud departs our bodies, flies up
towards sullen skies, escorted by two tall
evergreens that ground us among the chaos.
Don’t’ you still know? Through your eyes, I see
my world; through your nose, you breathe my air.
through my mouth, I speak your words. Murky
waters can rise and scare us, but you’ll never drown
as long as I am with you riding out your storms.
The Lovers by Remedios Varo (1963)
Mari-Carmen Marin was born in Málaga, Spain, but moved to Houston, TX, in 2003, where she has found her second home. She is a professor of English at Lone Star College—Tomball, and enjoys dancing, drawing, reading, and writing poetry in her spare time. Writing poetry is her comfy chair in front of a fireplace on a stormy winter day.
Her work has appeared in several places, including, Wordriver Literary Review, Scarlet Leaf Review, Dash Literary Journal, Months to Years, The Awakening Review, Lucky Jefferson, San Fedele Press, Willowdown Books, The Comstock Review, The Green Light Literary Journal, and Mothers Always Write.