Your Brain Is Yours

By Natalie Lyalin

I am baptized by coins with a faint smell of elderflower.

I transfigure, blink in one part of the house and then another.

A holy night unfolds and stands weakly.

A child chemist mixes a star in a test tube.

Glass shatters lightly.

I am a saint.

I soothe with marmalade and tonic.

I embroider a pillow and give it a squeeze.

I attach a heavy gold necklace to a horse rump.

We clang along across the empire.

Every church window flies open in greeting.

Every bell rings weary.

I stretch my arms out and receive light.

My face appears on a tree.

Red flowers spring forward.

I attend a funeral, and then another.

My face appears in water, lightly distorted.

I am tired like the ancients were tired.

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