Coming of Age
I was twelve when my friend started lifting weights
Building strength to fight his dad
A closed fist at home inside a chasm
Of bone, newly formed
By shifting plates moved by metronome
Spasms, olympic anchors
Weighing him to a river floor.
We’d stand in front of the fridge, primed
Like mice waiting for the snap
Of singing floorboards
Me spotting him cardboard reps –
Strong bones he’d say and grin –
His pinched palms rubbing not
Muscle aches but the phantom pains
Of future breaks
He couldn’t escape
Even when fleeing his own party early,
Flush with birthday money to buy new fishing gear
The aberdeen he’d later dig out of his palm
His father looking on, clean and angry for it
The pint glass only half filled with milk
His son stole like fire from a mountain.
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Matt Escott lives in Toronto with his wife and 5 year old twins. For the past 10 years he has worked with youth experiencing homelessness, and is currently developing a mentorship program for youth in foster care.