Autumn Dream with Pouring Rain

by Kay Allen

me & you are in this graveyard, & every headstone is 

a curio cabinet. there’s no order to their arrangement: 

just weathered wooden boxes embedded in 

the hillside, displaying little tchotchkes all the

dead people owned. we sit between the cabinets &

read their names, painted in bold crimson & flaky blue.

you carefully open one little door, remove a tiny porcelain 

egg carton that opens on tiny golden hinges, revealing 

freckled porcelain eggs. the heavy sky opens up & big cold 

raindrops fall on our shoulders, soak through your old 

striped shirt. you laugh, & the rain pours down; i realize 

our feet are bare & our toes squish into the earth. 

i wonder what my cabinet will hold. 

i wonder who will get to pick the items. 

for now, i slip an egg into my pocket, & i clasp 

your hand, & we lay down between the graves.

Kay Allen has been having some wild dreams lately. She is the founder of of feminist fantasy publisher Sword & Kettle Press, and her poetry has appeared in Mineral Lit & Dear Damsels. Find her at kayallen.carrd.co or on Twitter @koala_allen.