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.