Dear Emmett,

I’ve never written names in love poems.

It has always felt too much like a promise.

Dear Emmett you are sesame seeds

on blue counter top.

You are mornings that steep

like lemon ginger tea.

I wanted to tell you about

how I will know you

on silty beaches and gravel bays

when it’s cold and rain

is painting the street

with a fine tipped bamboo brush.

Dear Emmett you are my necklace clasps

and the hand that clips them.

You are the blue lines

on blank notebook pages

and poems that I’ve yet to set

free like black parakeets

from my fingers.

Yes I know parakeets aren’t black.

Dear Emmett you are my promises.

Dear Emmett I’ll be your blue bird

Dear Emmett I’ll be sunny-side up eggs

 

page turns, page turns

and bus tickets to somewheres.