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.