I like this poem by David Dominguez.
And I found images of the portrait, and the watermelon paintings as well.
Yesterday afternoon, I hung a framed print in the living room—a task that took two head-throbbing hours.It’s a wedding portrait that we love: Frida and Diego Rivera.I wonder how two people could consistently hurt each other,but still feel love so deeply as their bones turned into dust?Before Frida died, she painted a watermelon still life;before his death, Diego did too.I want to believe that those paintings were composedduring parallel moments because of their undying devotion.If I close my eyes, I can see melon wedges left likecenterpieces except for the sliceDiego put on the table’s corner—one piece of fruit pecked at by a dovethat passed through a window.I know that I won’t be building a bookshelf anytime soonand that the chances of me constructing a roll-top deskare as slim as me building an Adirondack chair that sits plumb,but I’m good with the spackle and putty knives in my tool belt.The knots in my back might not be thereif I had listened to her suggestions,and I could well have done without two hours of silenceover a few holes in the wall.But somehow, life has its ways of working things out.This afternoon, I shut the blinds,turned off the TV, lights, and phone,and massaged my wife’s feet to fight off a migraine—her second one this week despitethe prophylactics and pain killers that we store in the breadbox.For once, I’d like to experience what she feels:nausea, blindness, and pain that strikewhen the cranial vessels dilate,fill with blood, leak, and make the brain swell.Earlier, an MRI triggered the reaction as it mapped her headwith electrical current, gradient magnets, and radio waveshammering her floundering eyes.For now, we have our room, the bed frame, and the mattresswhere she lies as I knead her toes.Come nightfall, I hope that we’ll sit in the patio and watchthe breeze stirring the lemon, lime, and orange treesthat I planted along the back fence.On certain nights, the moon turns our lawninto green acrylic where we sip Syrah and mint teauntil all we know is the soundof our breathing among the whispering leaves.
David Dominguez, “Wedding Portrait” from The Ghost of Cesar Chavez. Copyright © 2010 by David Dominguez. Reprinted by permission of C&R Press.
Perhaps this was the portrait: