Hey Kel, call me, it’s dark. Call me,
I found a light burning in the sunrise
and this morning is sweeter,
not the fixed melancholy of youth.
Hey Kel, it’s Em, slip on my high-
laced boots and call. My secret
password is dontapologizeforthedead.
I miss you. My tulips have fallen
in love with the duskbirds who circle
when we weep. Hey Kel, it’s Em, there’s
an oversized moon tonight and I’m leaning
into my boyhood. You know that library
you loved, I filled it with balloons.
Hey Kel, got your text, call me.
I know you say you’re accidentally
devoted, but what if you’re inadvertently
lustheavy? Unintentionally heartstruck?
There’s enough gravestones in your yard,
you don’t have to touch each one daily.
Hey Kel, it’s Em. You know we’re all right,
right? Sisters who cover their mournings
with a wink, black bras on the blackberry
bushes, the sun is also dying. Hey Kel,
there are afternoons I aspire to be
a bird; there are treefrogs and commas
that end up in the wrong place.
Hey Kel, can you call me
back? Hey Kel, I lit a candle. Call me,
k? On the line. Call me back
when you can, Kel, candle me
when you can’t
call back.

Note: This poem was inspired from voicemails from my sister, Emilie, and the work and letters of Emily Dickinson. “Fixed melancholy” is a direct quote from one of Dickinson’s letters dated 28 March 1846.