Emily Van Dyke

I feel her sigh to me in the morning,
as the trees reflect the bitter cold air.
I wait for the air to sting my face, 
and the tips of my fingers.
i reflect back,
to the days of the sun melting
to my now stinging face.

Things not babied by your eyes praised by me, the smoothness of the lockers sliding against my fingernails making ticks as my fingers leave admiration, but to you silence of why the girl with the alerted eyes are finding such relief as the locker

The tent on the sun

The strength of her love

As i wake up, i'm not cold.

The warmth of the blankets between me and her warm and hopeful.

This brings me back to the cold nights and the broken window.

You're 15, scared at a family reunion,
mustering the courage to tell.
It's noon and your plan was to have already told
them what your lips have been dying to say.

Your grandmother and uncle question you on what you've

Be my juliet; means never give me a rose,

let me with my lustering skin commit thousands to you.

Be my armor but never my helmet;

let me grasp learning, but watch me when i teach.