FAILURE LYRIC
KRISTINA MARIE DARLING
B L A Z E V O X [ B O O K S ] Buffalo, New York
Failure Lyric by Kristina Marie Darling © Copyright 2014 Published by BlazeVOX [books] All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the publisher’s written permission, except for brief quotations in reviews. Printed in the United States of America Interior design and typesetting by Geoffrey Gatza Cover image: "Back to Back" by Noah Saterstrom, 12" x 18", mixed media on paper, 2014 First Edition ISBN: 978-1-60964-193-1 Library of Congress Control Number: 2014949804 BlazeVOX [books] 131 Euclid Ave Kenmore, NY 14217 [email protected]
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The story can’t begin. An abstraction like human happiness or Hamlet’s vengeance. You can’t fight for the dead, only sleep. No way to begin a story. I intended the blood rushing, the Mahler left open. Even now, you can’t
[FAILURE LYRIC]
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[MINOR FAILURES] When you explained why you were setting the table, I kept mishearing things. I mistook guest for ghost, and before that, Mahler for failure. For awhile, I just stood there, trying to think of something polite to say to you. You told me, quietly, how I would never understand. That I was only a woman who wanted to be a wife. On the table, champagne flutes sparkled. The silver forks shimmered in pairs. That was when I cleared away the dishes. I opened my mouth to speak—
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[BOSTON] The first night I was iced out of the city. Beneath the window, a dead bird covered in snow. You said you had been waiting in the hotel lobby, with your red silk tie, those drinks in tiny cups. At my feet, shattered glass. The finch's broken neck. I just sat there, counting the dirty feathers, its cracked bones. The dead bird said nothing. Still, I couldn't stop looking. Even in the dark, it felt like staring into a mirror.
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[MIRROR] My sister looked at me and said, You choose the love you think you deserve. She poured another cup of herbal tea. Out the window, I see birds burying their dead.
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[BOSTON] On the second night, the city still wouldn't have me. I find myself turning away from photographs. Like that shot of you in a black wool suit. The people who come close to shake your hand. And a sky that looks even colder than the weather. I won't stop pleading with the city. When the lights go out, I try again. And again. All those prayers wasted on a sheet of ice.
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[PRAYER] That you'll appear before me. Like a white horse galloping through the eye of a needle.
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[BOSTON] On the third night, they started leaving the city. That was when I first arrived. A woman at the hotel desk said you'd made a reservation. So I took an elevator to the eighteenth floor. I found frost on every mirror, the locks on the doors sealed shut from the cold. People kept leaving the city, taking their coats and wallets with them. All I could do was wait. When the ice thawed, I realized you were already gone.
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