TR Brady

field dream no 2



It’s dark. I’m manning a floodlight.

A girl is car-surfing in a corn field

& she wants me to see every second.

Little nicotine contrails in her wake.

Another girl is driving the car. She kills

the headlights so it’s on me to light

their way.


I’ve never been good at reading minds

& almost lose them in the crop.

The driver makes a sharp turn

at the scarecrow, throwing the other girl

from the roof of the car. She parks behind a shed.

Disappears in the corn to look for the other girl.


The rustling stops for a while.

When the surfer emerges, bloody from fun,

she’s alone. She looks to me, mouths

did you get that? She seems further

away than before. The floodlight dims.

A car key digging into my thigh.

field dream no 5



I was naked in a field. I was buried

to my ankles. The wheatgrass high

& tan. Some broken blades. You

were sitting on a keg & smoking

& wearing my good shoes.


I asked for a shovel. You gave me

two Barbie arms & a stick of gum.

You pointed to the yellowing

sky then your wrist.


I dug what earth I was able.

You opened the tap.

A siren spread out under

the cloud bank. Dissonance

in an echo chamber.


TR BRADY is an MFA candidate at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. TR’s poems and prose have appeared in Forklift, Ohio, Bombay Gin, Tupelo Quarterly, If You Can Hear This: Poems in Protest of an American Inauguration, and Arkana.