Sunday Jan 17

Darling Poetry 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 American 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 Ph.D. in Literature at S.U.N.Y.-Buffalo and an M.F.A. in Poetry at New York University.  


I didn’t say anything when the door opened, I just held onto the
match because it was lit.
There are some questions a man would never think to ask. The
room had many uses, not just the one.
The violence isn’t in the action. If your dress had been the one that
caught fire, you’d understand.
Let me phrase my answer differently this time. What would you
rather have, the heap of ash or the heap of ash.
So you’re saying I eventually stopped trying to phone for help.
No really, there was a fire.


Because it wouldn’t stop burning. Even the trellis collapsed, so
there was nothing I could do.  
There are some things a husband shouldn’t have to see. For
example, the tiny red marks on the back of my arm.
In the beginning, I wanted the house. A yard with a tall fence.
Really, I didn’t know.
The marble cherub is a complicated thing. You see, the little holes
were for the water.
But the garden was where it ended. I could hardly speak, let alone
search for the keys.
Believe me, it ended.