Kit Frick


It’s everything we expected.

The intricate tangle,
all the faces
talking, lighting up, falling
into paper cups.
The promise
of the minotaur, his
tremulous hoof-beats.

I lead you into the sea
of faces and their mouths
become my mouth
and I lose you.

The minotaur
is smaller than I thought
and when I hold open my palm,
he nuzzles into it like a cat.
I listen
carefully to his thoughts:
we are wary of light, of the faces,
of quickly reasoned dreams.

Kit Frick is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at Syracuse University. Her poems have recently or will soon appear in places like PANK, CutBank, DIAGRAM, Conduit, and H_NGM_N, among others. Kit is currently Poetry Editor for Salt Hill and is an Associate Editor for Black Lawrence Press, where she edits the small press newsletter Sapling.

Archives: Issue Five: Fall 2011
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