Jason Fraley
[The messiah of missing song]
The messiah of missing song opens her fan mail. She recognizes snapped piano wire or cracked reeds by envelope outline alone. Delivery drivers throw already dented trumpets at her oak door.
She cherishes the small, nondescript boxes without return addresses.
Today’s treat: a severed finger, tip a hardened callus.
This is her type of love: a vanishing space, faint lines on which music was once written.
It arrives wrapped in bloodless newspaper. She examines its features. Shaved smooth below the bottom knuckle. Fresh manicure, nail shaped into a pick and painted azulejos blue.
She arranges it on her bookshelf next to other fingers from the same hand.
What is a prayer if not something repeated?
The hums a tune she cannot quite place until the open cardboard flap scrapes a smile into her palm.
The right note often arrives unsought, not even on the scale.
She cherishes the small, nondescript boxes without return addresses.
Today’s treat: a severed finger, tip a hardened callus.
This is her type of love: a vanishing space, faint lines on which music was once written.
It arrives wrapped in bloodless newspaper. She examines its features. Shaved smooth below the bottom knuckle. Fresh manicure, nail shaped into a pick and painted azulejos blue.
She arranges it on her bookshelf next to other fingers from the same hand.
What is a prayer if not something repeated?
The hums a tune she cannot quite place until the open cardboard flap scrapes a smile into her palm.
The right note often arrives unsought, not even on the scale.
Jason Fraley is a native West Virginian who lives, works, and periodically writes in Columbus, OH. Current and prior publications include Salamander Magazine, Barrow Street, Jet Fuel Review, Quarter After Eight, Mid-American Review, and Okay Donkey.