I never imagined love as a cause for suicide. But there we
were, surrounded by all of the tell-tale signs: a breadknife,
a withered corsage, a white dress with some ruffles along
The night before I sensed that something had gone
terribly wrong. He told her, brushing the hair from his
eyes, how her sonnets failed to turn at the Volta.
Now she’s gliding along the surface of the lake. Her hands
folded like the knot on a small bouquet.
So he tries and tries to wake her. He looks at her perfect
wrists, nearly submerged: cold skin, a silver watch, every
bracelet fastened in place.
Martyrdom is © Kristina Marie Darling, from Brushes With (Blazevox Books 2013)