The Husband, Discovered, A Letter to Two Beloveds

No one sets out to be Alsace-Lorraine. But it happens. Caught
between nations, shuttling alliances. In truth, I have loved

these thirty years, gorged on love, and I am not sorry
for myself. Susan, you should hate me, and cannot, and this

is a hard thing. Shut, no slam, no words to talk back to. Lilies,
caress, Tupperware:
these I know well from you. These I miss

more than anything. I pace around an unknown block in a new
part of town. A stray dog sniffs my shoe while I am on the phone

with you, Carol: words cannot capture the rupture in my heart:
galactic. Cheeseball. I cannot make the words work, straighten out

my tongue. Could it have been different in Montana, wider,
more sky? Could I have been a new man, put a stake in it,

bunkered down for winter? Loves, forgive me, I am unmapped.

Kit Frick was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her work has been previously published in Sarah Lawrence Review and The Looking Glass. She received her BA from Sarah Lawrence College and is currently Editor in Chief of the Journal of Student Affairs at New York University, where she is an administrator and MA candidate. She was the 2004 recipient of the Lori Hertzberg Prize for Creativity and was one of four student organizers for the first annual Sarah Lawrence College Poetry Festival. (kit.frick@gmail.com)

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761