This Holy Hell, This Sad Heaven

for Mary McCarthy & Frida Kahlo

Do they even care which Deadly Sin
caught them up? Not gluttony or sloth
but lust and pride are contenders.

No hell-fire, just boredom
& perhaps one day expiation will come.

But were they really in New York City
that same day in 1938? In hotel rooms
in liaisons. But not together.

One married Mr. Erudite & Puffy
in absolution for the sin
of sleeping with him, but swore
she never loved him.

The other married Señor Humongous
Artist & Muralist but never quite forgave him
for sleeping with her sister.

So what do they talk about?  

Cucumber sandwiches & pico de gallo.
The hazards of being anyone’s third wife.

I see them: sisterly & almost girlish
beneath a violet sky laughing

then arguing in a half-hearted way
some quibble after all these years
about Trotsky—