 The dull red of a stranger’s alarm clock the faded green of the segmented digits on his wrist when I lift his arm off me and climb out of his bed the slit of white under the bathroom door the flood when his roommate opens it and sees me in my boxers and sighs the gray of the morning when I shut the door behind me and flick the switch and twist the blinds to an unfamiliar view and realize I don’t know where the hell I am the shock of pool-blue when I open the toilet lid and the sudden dark when I close it the dancing dots when I stare for too long into the mirror trying to gauge if my eyes look bloodshot-tired or bloodshot-hungover the stars that blind me as the world tips under my bare feet the pool-blue again as I throw up and its afterimage when I flush the glare of the hall light which wasn’t on earlier the lightening of his room from the rising sun I use to help me tug on my shirt and step into everything else the amber of my phone screen still thinking it’s last night as I check Google Maps to see if walking home is an option and of course it’s not the gold glint off his anklet as I wonder if I should wake him up the blinding light of the hallway again and the exposed bulbs of the dining room chandelier one of his roommates is sitting under and God everything’s just so painfully bright there’s the tiny rainbows the crystal doorknob throws that doesn’t open under my touch until the roommate from the bathroom unlocks it for me so I can escape into the dim caged fluorescents of his building’s stairwell that smells like gasoline as I walk down to the street to be greeted by the cool white LED headlights and vermillion taillights the now-blue glow of my phone weak in the daylight as I track the Uber I ordered the sun as it sits above me as I half-wish I stayed in his bed and waited for the light to rouse him and asked his name. M.J. Young is a writer and MFA student at Florida International University, where he is the poetry editor of Gulf Stream Magazine. His poetry can be found or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, The Penn Review, Vagabond City Lit, and elsewhere. In his free time he enjoys listening to Philip Glass and exploring bookstores. He can be found on Instagram @mjyoungwrites.
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Still Life for God #24: After Midnight Mass or Elegy for the End of the World by M.J. Young12/1/2025  Mouth dry from the Eucharist and out of step with myself from the hour I’m walking down the middle of the road, golden lane markers my guideline home. Things have changed and things will change but now I’m alone, organ music echoing in my head. I feel more at peace, meaning closer to You, under this cloud-thick sky than sitting in a pew. It’s something about being alone in grand spaces—empty churches, museums after hours, the world at early morning—as if this smalling sort of solitude demands Your attention. It’s Christmas, and I’m afraid we’re on a precipice. I don’t know what to do but continue down the lane marker. Last time, I stopped praying and waited, as if I could reintroduce myself to You once I got better. As if I had to get better. Every fourth step I take there’s a reflector. I don’t know when I started counting but I’m on twenty-three. I think I want to ask You something, but being out of practice makes praying hard. I stop and lower myself to the ground, the street rough under me, cold. To my left is a house with a cross in its yard, ten feet tall and wrapped in twinkle lights. I’m tired. My question is about suffering and how much we’re meant to give up. And why. It’s hard to imagine what the world is going to look like in four years. It’s hard even thinking past this coming stretch of Ordinary Time to Lent—what will I give up then? Will that be the start? I haven’t gotten off the road. I think I’m waiting for Your answer. Or maybe for twin headlights to send me home. M.J. Young is a writer and MFA student at Florida International University, where he is the poetry editor of Gulf Stream Magazine. His poetry can be found or is forthcoming in Ninth Letter, The Penn Review, Vagabond City Lit, and elsewhere. In his free time he enjoys listening to Philip Glass and exploring bookstores. He can be found on Instagram @mjyoungwrites.
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