Prose Poem

In response to Scrittura’s prompt: Intimate Portraits

Juanita lived in a double house, one for her and one for him, joined and yet asunder like Frida and Diego. More force of nature than woman, but still pure woman in all her ferocious tenacity, from the top of her 1940’s coif to her doggedly persistent toes: pure woman, pure dignity, pure class. Also: hell on wheels, with “oh shit” elegant in gold upon…