Nordictrack, Gazelle, Bowflex:
These sound majestic, like Greek gods
Or names of mountain ranges.
When they arrive at her doorstep,
A heap of metal bones collapsed within
An enormous brown box,
At that moment, the dream dissolves.
She called a stranger and asked them
To send it to her, two weeks ago.
Ever since, she’d been imagining
Carving herself, as a sculptor reveals
The figure within the marble
With a sharp tool, a blade, perhaps,
Or a chisel. These machines could cut away
Everything extra that had settled
Around her body: routines of
Seatedness, rewards she bestowed
Upon herself, generously as
A parent, her persistence and
Her comfort, the fatigue and aching neck,
The muffled longings.