The Worst Thing About Beauty
By Christine Potter
April 15, 2026
April 15, 2026
The worst thing about beauty is that it’s here
despite everything else. Euonymous on the creek’s
bank of tumbled boulders. Enormous, rust red
despite everything else. Euonymous on the creek’s
bank of tumbled boulders. Enormous, rust red
oak trees with the breeze sparkling like water in
their leaves. Still here. It feels wrong to look at
something that opens my heart’s messy closet
their leaves. Still here. It feels wrong to look at
something that opens my heart’s messy closet
and find this happiness, to breathe in the cool air
of my adolescence, the long line of front porches
on our old street, how from our porch, you could
of my adolescence, the long line of front porches
on our old street, how from our porch, you could
look through everyone else’s, all the way down to
Route 9. Then would come the clatter of football
cleats—the varsity team walking to Gould Park,
Route 9. Then would come the clatter of football
cleats—the varsity team walking to Gould Park,
and the crossing guard putting her big STOP sign
in her car and driving off. It was beautiful then
and it is now because I can remember it. This feels
in her car and driving off. It was beautiful then
and it is now because I can remember it. This feels
like more than I deserve: like my great-aunt alive
again in her shirtwaist dress and nylons, sitting
with her sister, my grandmother, and both of them
again in her shirtwaist dress and nylons, sitting
with her sister, my grandmother, and both of them
watching an afternoon talk show with the golden
Election Day sun marking bright patches on
the rug by the TV. I live in this poor country, but
Election Day sun marking bright patches on
the rug by the TV. I live in this poor country, but
I have enough and beauty besides. The worst
thing about beauty is how it endures, sparks memory
to mock or soothe us. Somehow, the light abides.
thing about beauty is how it endures, sparks memory
to mock or soothe us. Somehow, the light abides.
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Christine Potter is the poetry editor at Eclectica Magazine. Her poems have appeared there, and in Rattle, The McNeese Review, Glimpse, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, and The After Happy Hour Review. Her two most recent poetry collections are the chapbook Before the World Was on Fire (Bottlecap) and the full-length Why I Don't Take Xanax (Kelsay Books).
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Author’s Note:
Sometimes I’m on my way to something I don’t want to do and notice the way the light looks in the trees, or see the Hudson River looking especially vigorous. It almost seems unfair when things are as bad as they have been in the States lately to even notice beauty—like it’s a tease. I wanted this poem to acknowledge that and also to come down on the side of light and even joy. The memories in the poem floated to me as I was writing it, and I found them comforting.