On Reading Poems, I Now Sympathize With
Daughters Of Dead Mothers
For Freida Hughes
It’s hard to look at this picture of Frieda and not feel something tragic—
mother, father, brother dead,
one by oven, one by cancer, one by hanging.
It’s hard just to look at this picture of Frieda, with her menagerie
of pets, poems, and paintings.
Yes, I mean the Frieda with an e,
not Frida Kahlo.
Frieda Hughes, I want to buy one of your paintings
a green one
representing the joy of being able to work on my poetry
or something other creative.
Frieda Hughes, I want to eat all of your mother’s poems
and all of your paintings.
It’s hard not to look at Frieda and feel
something kindred—
us daughters of dead mothers.
It’s hard to look at Frieda and feel
something so protective,
to say to us through our mothers
There, there. You made it.
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