for Tina upon the death of her sister, Frida
When her twin died Tina lost her bearing. The sisters had never been apart. They slept together like friendly lovers. Cleaned each other’s face and ears, behind the neck. Frida never even had to speak, for Tina heard her thoughts. They played together in their dreams each night, running under the desert sun. Their hair the color of a fawn. Their bellies and feet, precious and pink. Their little hands in little white gloves.
Frida made up games for just the two of them. Tina was the athlete. The warrior. The beauty of the family. The sweetness. Indomitable. Frida, the artist. The invalid. The intrepid one. The creative. She worshipped fire. She feared no one. Together they were the Amazon princessas. Inseparable. Invisibly conjoined. So when Frida died, she became Tina’s phantom appendage. The agony of amputation without the blood. And Tina was lost.
She wandered from room to room, hoping to find a trace of Frida’s scent. That odor, slightly funky, completely intoxicating. But Frida was gone. She left none of her smell to comfort. None of her kisses. No chaste caresses.
The day after Frida died, Tina woke up old. She didn’t want to eat or drink. She refused to use the toilet or bathe. Her eyes, twin oceans of confusion and despair. What was this thing, “alone”? Why did her chest feel as if something had been carved out of it, leaving a bloody crater. No food could comfort. No special treat. No proffered embrace. She still felt her sister’s presence, a vestigial self, missing but so real. She was inconsolate.
Sometimes she would look in the mirror, see Frida’s face. Sometimes Frida would visit in dreams filled with happiness and sunshine. In the mornings as Tina began to wake from sleep, the memory of her loss engulfed her. Without volition, a long and low howl would escape from her chest.
This new world. So sad and lonely.
Nobody’s sister.
Nobody’s twin.
Coda
Less than seven months later, Tina followed Frida into death. They are buried together beneath an altar, a dead tree in situ, its roots still within the earth. A wooden carving of an angel’s face and wings five feet across crowns the stump. On one of the severed limbs sits a brass bowl kept filled with water for the birds who come to bathe and drink and eat the food we leave for them so they will sing to the twins below, a hillock of grass now covering what was nothing but rocks and clay. In the evenings I sing to Baby Tina and Little Frida, whose company I still need by my side, whose love and example of strength and joy I will miss until I die.
So moving, Donna. Sorry for your loss x
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Thank you, Gillian. I’m still crying.
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beauty so strong it melts our hearts
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They were my solace through Ill health , harassment at work, a volatile relationship, the unexpected death of my husband at age 54, and other continuing sorrows. Now I have no one to hold on solitary holidays and sad anniversaries. Frida died in February. Tina died in Septembe. I rstill feel bereft.
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Thank you, pd. Thanks for reading and commenting.
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I love it that you don’t let the uninitiated know until after we’ve read the whole poem that Tina and Frida are boxer dogs. I thought they were little human girls who were unusually innocent and open-hearted and out-there as their unadorned selves.
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Thanks, Harriet. I appreciate you taking the time to read it and to comment.
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Thanks, Harriet. I wanted it to read like that, without being deceptive, because I feared many people would just shut down or not read it, because it is about dogs. As it was, several thought I was self indulgent and self dramatizing because I was so overcome by grief. Thanks for reading it and commenting.
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Poor Tina 😦
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Thanks for reading it and understanding its truth, Chris.
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When I read this my breath caught because I knew I had found someone else who gets what it’s like to lose part of yourself/herself – impossible to separate the two – and also because I felt Tina’s loss viscerally in my blood and in my bones. Tina was writing with you crafting your words. If I hadn’t felt like I had been stabbed I could say how much I loved this piece of writing but as it is all I can say is that it stunned me – you/Tina managed to convey the inarticulate emotion of profound loss – from the inside out.
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Thank you, Sara. I appreciate all you day here. I miss both of them so.
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This is exactly accurate in representing how I’ve felt. Once there were two……
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Thank you, Lucy, for reading it and commenting, and especially for recognizing what it describes as you have.
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My pleasure!
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Reblogged this on poetry from the frontera and commented:
Sharing this again because I’m crying.
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Recently, this story in memory of my princesas Amazonas was republished by Mago Academy. Thank you, Dr. Helen Hwang, for recognizing how grief transcends both species and time.
https://spiraljourney.magoacademy.org/obituary/frida-and-tina/
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Recently this piece was republished again, this time in Volume 9 of Life and Legends.
http://lifeandlegends.com/donna-snyder/?fbclid=IwAR20MUGkag6DR8LUj9xleqsbolQsH_SCjIcKfL0EivfYIMCL2lEA-rWajC8
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