Frida and Diego, Wedding Portrait
She rules the house like wine rushes at a drunk; a linger on the lips, a gush of grapes
down the throat and an empty vintage bottle. Her soft hand clutches his long thickened
fingers as she presents her catch to canvas. A lean of her head towards his shoulders,
delicate, yet deft as Diego's sweeping brush. Her blackberry mouth moves, slashes
and amuses him with loud Mexican jokes, gingered with allspice. They leap from the frame
in embarrassment. Walrus body, pouched and towering above her slightness, his legs
two pillars marbled to the gallery floor. A mustache flirts with critics and curls with fame.
It swirls from his lip. She wonders how many scaffolds he will build and tear down
before one complete fresco survives.
Leigh Mackelvey resides in Mullica Hill, New Jersey and teaches students with learning disabilities in Camden, New Jersey. Her poetry and prose is forthcoming in issues of Faithwriters. She received a fellowship from Arts Horizon (New York, New Jersey) and is pursuing her MFA in Creative Writing from National University.