I Search the Mirror for TragedY

flesh moves toward you as if summoned, and here, far from
fairy tale castles and big screen love
I am waiting by the telephone, in the dark--
one last pastel-colored cocktail and she is yours

she will be. she glides through the walls of
thinking, lying here, rotting from hollow places
I am begging for just one last bite from you for
ever, or just tonight, whatever you decide my role will be
in the days before I become a rotting corpse
plow me under.

waiting by the telephone, in the dark, in
far away, I know exactly what you are
in our bed, I am always waiting for you
you’ve finally caught her, across the room, promises
I am in our bed, always waiting for you.

Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, The Hong Kong Review, and Appalachian Journal, and her hobbies include kicking and screaming at vending machines.