I caught sight of my life sitting on a log by the barn. 
It sat upright when it saw me and actually blushed. 
Beyond was the expanse of sky, the water below
and a blossoming gate of mountain ash. I knew
immediately it was my life (it felt familiar)
although the fur and horns were a surprise. 
I wanted answers. In the almost twilight, it confessed.
Yes, it had been messing up for years. I admonished it, 
said, You should know better. It claimed
it didn’t know I was along for the ride. I followed
it down the slope, until it faded into the dark recesses
of the undergrowth. Yet, I still thought my life was
with me (perhaps, it too had hopes) that we’d have
a long talk over dinner and keep talking far into the night.  

Lisa Young is the author of When the Earth (Quattro Books) and This Cabin (LyricalMyrical Press). Her work has been published in Verse-VirtualThe Quilliad, the Maple Tree Literary Supplement and elsewhere. She is the founding editor of Juniper – A Poetry Journal.