Day of the Dead (chuparosa)
after Self-portrait with Thorn Necklace and Hummingbird by Frida Kahlo (MX) 1940
A Gustavo Martinez folk art painting captures me: a pair of hummingbirds hover over fervent
petal clusters on a Mexican Flame Vine. I dine on plump Spanish Manzanilla olives and
warm Pan de Muerto, savor orange, anise, and brine. I migrate to a September years ago
and your handwritten letter that begged, Come back to me.
I take flight during happy hour to cross a great cobalt Lake, the ancient Appalachians, and
meandering rivers. I span the agua azul Gulf and think of the toxic Hot Tub of Despair: a
dead zone where every living creature that enters is killed, their carcasses embalmed.¹ I
take a long sip of amber darkness from a glass of Tequila reposado.
You said I was not just your Rebecca, I was your colibri. Your bebedor de nectar. By
November, we celebrated la pedida de mano, ate sopes and wedding cookies from a
tablescape of striped serapes, fleshy green succulents, and earthen Talavera birds. My
arms and thighs wrapped around you like delicate White Morpho butterfly wings. We loved
among Mayan marigolds, dissolved in a pyramid of fiery flora that scorched the bed. But
you tore through my papier-mâché piñata heart, emptied it of candied sweetness. You stole
your promise from my finger, substituted a thorny necklace upon my chest to cut my flesh
into crimson ribbons for your gruesome fiesta.
Agave and spice linger on my tongue. I sink back into the vinyl upholstery, a tapestry of
foliage, and choke down another swallow of Roger’s Tequila Reposado. It is Dia de los
Muertos, and Cocina de Jalisco is wall-to-wall festive with blown glass and sugar skulls,
their large eyes outlined by colorful candy beads. I gaze transfixed at their hollow sockets.
You snatch me from my perch. Feathers flutter and drop. A feral bite to the neck and I am
ruby-throated. Empty stares witness. You discard my corpse, your chuparosa charm, as
the prize token on my altar to you.
_______
¹Sascha Pare, “Hot Tub of Despair: The deadly ocean pool that traps and pickles creatures that fall in,”
Live Science, June 14, 2024, livescience.com
Rebecca Weigold
Rebecca Weigold studied English at Northern Kentucky University. Her poetry appears in many print and online publications and anthologies. One of her poems has been translated into Arabic. She has had multiple Pushcart nominations and a poem chosen as a contest finalist at The Ekphrastic Review.