against the law for Muriel to speak her mind

as freely as she’d like. I read the article:

Congress has passed an abominable law,

the Espionage Act, which threatens punishment—

twenty years in prison! a ten-thousand-dollar fine!—

for arguing against the war. It’s now illegal

to mail newspapers, or even letters, that give arguments

against the draft. Does this mean Aunt Vera can’t write to us

like she always does, telling us about her suffrage

meetings and why she and her friends are angry

about the war, especially the draft—remember

that article that called it “a new kind of slavery”?

Papa paces, door to table, table back to door.

I don’t know, he says. They’re not likely to arrest my sister,

but the worst of this is—this! Exactly what is happening

right here in this room, right now. Mama

doesn’t see it the way we do. She listens and then

puts in her two cents’ worth: Be careful, Muriel,

in what you write to Frank. I glance at her—

how does she even know about our letters?

Most likely from the nosy postmistress

who sorts the mail and shares our party line;

I bet she listens in on my private conversations

and tells my parents things she’s heard me say

to Emma. As for Mama’s admonition

to be careful, I have to smile—the letters

Frank and I exchange could hardly

be more careful than they are.

Adventure / Muriel

Adventure

Muriel

Frank writes letters to Emma and his parents—

Emma shows them to me—cheerful,

hearty: he’s having an adventure

he can’t wait to tell them all about

when he gets home. He’s met people

from all over the world! Soldiers from India

who don’t use helmets—they wrap their heads

in turbans! Scottish soldiers who wear kilts

that look like skirts. Frank hopes to visit

Scotland when he gets a few weeks’

leave, probably three months from now.

How are the crops? Is everyone well?

He’s proud to serve his country.

Don’t worry about him, he’s doing just fine.

Frank Writes to Me / Muriel

Frank Writes to Me

Muriel

I’m surprised they even sent this letter,

after censoring so much of it. I read what I can,

then hold it up to the light and guess the rest.

Frank must have written something

other than what he knows he is allowed

to say, but now he’ll think he’s told me

things I haven’t read—it’s frustrating, like trying

to carry on a conversation through a thick curtain.

Dear Muriel, Thank you for writing to me.

I bet it’s hard on you, trying to keep up

with all the work. (Did I complain too much?)

Don’t go burning down the house, now.

I’m glad you don’t sugarcoat things

when you write to me, Muriel—