Same Dream by Ally Young

In the hour in the morning just before day, we set fire to the bean field in the middle of rain.  The green turned to orange, and then red, & then flames caught the fat bulb of the crocus at the edge of the grave.  But the water came down harder until the ground was encased.  Someone banged a spoon to a pan & I ran in, under the overhang. It was twelve o’clock for the cattle, the horses, the smoke, and the blame.  The birds.  In the trees.  I knew something had changed.  I took off my white socks & I pressed the hot wet soles of my feet to her feet.  I swear I could feel it.  This orchestra.  Our lives. How it sang. The new us half woke and tumbled all the way over itself.  Baby-new.  Loose vapor.  It wouldn’t stay. 

Ally Young has an MFA from Syracuse University. Her work has been published in The Columbia Poetry Review, The Florida Review, The Fairytale Review, Birdfeast, Fields, and elsewhere. More work can be found online at allyhyoung.org.

1 November 2021