At night, to keep the wind out of the rooms, he would place loose pages from the book in the crevice, exactly like this. She waited for what seemed like hours, leaving her passport in a locked box at the hotel. Only weather breaking the silence. Always mourning or being mourned, it all seemed the same to her, traveling from one city to the next under a sky filled with sunless light:
Why would anyone find the train schedules interesting when it is possible to learn about astronomy. What one fears most in the afterlife. It is the wind shattering each of the windows. What is nearly unsayable to friends. The little declaration that lodges at the back of her throat.
KRISTINA MARIE DARLING is the author of over twenty books of poetry. Her awards include two Yaddo residencies, a Hawthornden Castle Fellowship, and a Visiting Artist Fellowship from the America Academy in Rome, as well as grants from the Whiting Foundation and Harvard University’s Kittredge Fund. Her poems and essays appear in The Gettysburg Review, New American Writing, The Mid-American Review, The Iowa Review, The Columbia Poetry Review, Verse Daily, and elsewhere. She is currently working toward both a PhD in Literature at SUNY-Buffalo and an MFA in Poetry at New York University.