[letter excavated from the willendorf tomb]

Whoever said dry is the word for a life of solitude didnít account for my rhetoric, my depth of absolute distance. You display me as you please: blue dress, white dress, pink dress, yellow dress. My face is always the same spent splendor as the girls who self-portrait the internet over. You know the ones, N. Mad angels. I feel stuffed to the brim with alibis and strappy dresses. The world doesnít want me but the world has awful taste. You spoil me with your excellent taste, N. You protect me from the dirt that seeks to claim me again, and I just donít know why since in a wink youíll be dead and Iíll have flexed not even a lash to interfere as you darken with vinegar and stop. Alibi: a man had to unbury me more than once to claim me timeless but my eyes were sealed shut against the dirt and worms and metals, I was a sexy insect god the world couldnít recognize for its gross preoccupation with man. Alibi: man hands himself his letters of will when I am a film of closeups played backwards. Iíve no means to see my importance. Why should I apologize if all this time I have wanted to birth the most perfect child in the most perfect dress. Jesus, N. These mad men a wind of psychic distance.


Natalie Eilbert's first book of poems, Swan Feast, is forthcoming from Coconut Books in 2015. Her chapbooks, Conversation with the Stone Wife (Bloof Books) and And I Shall Again Be Virtuous. (Big Lucks Books), are forthcoming later this year. Her poems and criticism have been featured in or are forthcoming from The Kenyon Review, Tin House, Spinning Jenny, Handsome, The Philadelphia Review of Books, and many other journals. She is the founding editor of The Atlas Review.