WHY I STOPPED WORKING OUT
The snow is uncritically beautiful.
It paints the slow steeples of alley
way garages and abandoned minivans
with cheerful postcard radiance.
The cat gives me her back again
but she’s sat like that for hours
almost cradled by me from four
feet away. I wanted to be built
like a hammer toss lothario
but the fire’s gone out for me.
One missed week turned into
a month turned into forsaking
the whole project altogether.
As Danny said, I’ll never be peak
Brendan Fraser so what’s
the point. Julian built herself
a tiny efficiency and wrote some
of the best erotica about God
the world has ever seen. She never
left. The clerics never went in
for her bones. It’s one way
to make a statement – to anchor
yourself to a promise. You pulled
my hair without asking; it hurt
in a bad way. The disappointment
eats away at me and also my plan
to get married in a blue lobster
shack in spring time on the coast
near Grand Manan. Thinking
about it never got me an answer.
The snow is uncritically
beautiful and you can’t see
the yard gone to seed
with bull thistle, red twizzler
bags, low key despair.
Julian was given a revelation
of love and a promise
that sounded like forever.
I’m still waiting on the beauty
I can’t feel in my bones.
Image Credit: Charles Filiger “La Vierge aux anges” (1891-92)
Matilda Young is a writer working for a civil rights nonprofit with an M.F.A. in Poetry from the University of Maryland. She lives in DC with a poet, an environmental lawyer, and an angry ginger cat. She has been published in several journals, including Sakura Review, the Golden Key, and Yellow Arrow Journal.