Saint Cheryl

Mitch Grabois

Cheryl is thirty
but can’t stop picking at all the little flaws
on her face
She eats half of a stale peach pie over the sink
the crumbs raining down onto the stainless steel
That’s all she’s had to eat today

Her life
so unrequited all the time

She goes onto Instagram
and manipulates her image
It’s how she spends most of her time these days
There’s no profit in it
but she feels compelled
She puts a halo around her head
puts a blurred circle on her forehead
with beams of light radiating from it
like a Russian icon

Now she’s a martyred saint
yet to be canonized
One day the Pope will take her hands
and raise her up

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