Trojský Zámek

Nell Wright

I had to get out of the city, too much narrative there.

Every large estate was called a castle. Like, come to my castle for the weekend and unwind.

True, what I needed was time. I was working to forget a person, or rather a habit of thought, those contours my want still took on autopilot.

Some had been converted into public parks. Children streaked through the hedge maze, happy and dappled.

A woman with a panicked dog charged ten cents for the bathroom. Its stalls were clean and breezy. White sun slashed the cold stone floor.

I felt brushes with some minor history, but mostly old silence.

From the castle patio I saw the distant city, which didn’t seem to miss me or exist. Finally, it was just my future.

I saw the maze’s grammar, too, the lovely stagnant fountain at its center, centuries of waiting to be reached.

A convoluted path among those slowly growing walls. In and out of shadow.

Every mistake I would make.

Nell Wright is a poet and visual artist from New Jersey. She has received support from the Vermont Studio Center, the Community of Writers, NYU’s Global Research Institute in Prague, and the Fulbright U.S. Student Program.
Originally published:
December 14, 2022


Cancel Culture and Other Myths

Anti-fandom as heartbreak
Kathryn Lofton

Ode to Babel

The ecstasy of Michael K. Williams
Roger Reeves

A Moral Education

In praise of filth
Garth Greenwell

You Might Also Like

Prairie School

Janice N. Harrington


Maureen N. McLane


Sign up for The Yale Review newsletter and keep up with news, events, and more.