The Works of Christina Lachman 

Christina Lachman graduated in 2009 with a BFA in Writing from Pratt Institute. While in school she interned with Belladonna reading series and press. Her poems have appeared in Pratt’s literary magazine, Ubiquitous, and in a self-published chapbook, This Brutal Fall. She lives in upstate New York, daily marveling at the natural beauty all around her.

All Poems © Christina Lachman 


Blossoms smelled like motor oil,

though the soil was friendly.

Sunlight was an experience around

the head, but only when it came

in slabs, in slants, through slats

and only as the ones with glasses

could see it, refracting into their brains.

Weeks before, our beliefs had turned

primitive; sun was dead and shrouded,

warm breezes were a shadow of the mind.

We looked at photos and said, remember that?

Remember that shade of green?

We stood in the cold kitchen, blowing eggs

out of their shells, willing to coo every

tree into budding, every ice-lake to melt.

Temple of Dusk

Only dancing is fit for this dark hillside,

no songs we sing on the city rooftops

allowed, they would profane this place;

no human speech at all, only twirling

in a too-large sweater, hands lost inside,

under this cloudy lowering sky,

a blue and grey universe unbound by

the circle of treetops wagging their fine

edged silhouettes.

A light rushing of water and leaves

tease and tempt the brave into the thicket—

I’ll keep to this open field for now, homelights

blinking from the land of common reality.