Two Poems
by Natalie Lyalin


In a week you can so love someone

Take them to the woods

Wrap them in a fur cloak

Point out tremendous lichen

Singe a steak bone


Then move into the woods

This is an experiment

Like a sugared nut that settles the stomach

Like how the planets are confused


This is why a dull tuft of grass greeted us this morning

This is why the doctor saw a sickly robin


The world is ending in preparation for a new one


The dumbest luxury we invented were cruise ships

and drinks of electric colors

I am sure of this

Like how God is on a mountain

On all the mountains at once

How he hides from us

Because we are terrible to eachother


Like how we say, this book is for you

And for you, and for you

But it is for no one in particular




My dad said it looks like a woven cloud

And my mother laughed and laughed

Your father is a lamp! Is a table!

He is under a curse

He is secretly leaving the country

and we must intercept him

Before he throws paint on the Vatican’s ceiling

Before he rips off the Pope’s rings

He should see my sloppy garden

My hot soup

He should see the way I drift in the house

Smoke in my ears

A sugar cube in my mouth

How I poison myself with dove meat

He should see my doves

Their enormous cages in my house

On top of the house

A large yellow parrot in my basement

He should see my projects

My origami fortress

My other origami fortress


Natalie Lyalin is the author of Pink & Hot Pink Habitat ( Cocounut Books, 2009) and the chapbook, Try A Little Time Travel (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2010). She is a co-editor for Agnes Fox Press. She teaches at the University of the Arts and lives in Philadelphia.