Poetry By Raphael Emmae

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Summer, 2019
                                                                For L

Let this be a poem in which the speaker 
                makes it out alive. Let this be a prayer

to the god of Monster Energy and guitar
                solos and winged eyeliner and strawberry

yogurt and Robert Smith and paperbacks
                and night streets hazy with crickets’ breaths. 

I take polaroids of mud splattered Converse 
                and hang them next to dried basil flowers

and inhale the gas station horizon’s purple
                sunset yawn and the sweat dripping 

from clouds and the asphalt pebbles beneath 
                my Sharpie marked soles. Tonight we eat

popsicles by the convenience store until our
                tongues turn blue. Tonight we count planes

like stars and watch a raccoon painted golden
                by the streetlight dive into a trash can. Tonight

we are drenched in neon light. Tonight the moon
                is behind clouds, and tonight you tell me we 

are meant for great things and I believe you 
                are, but all I am meant for tonight are rain 

drops twinkling by my ears like the littlest birds
                and lightning sparking in a lightbulb spinning 

in the science lab microwave and the overgrown 
                pool behind blue fences where I pretend I am on top 

of Mount Olympus or searching for sharks by Catalina 
                Island or strolling down a street in Edinburgh--

Tonight is the prayer we walk into as dew drops
                twinkle on grass. The first fall leaves blush.



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​Raphael Emmae (they/them) is an Asian artist and writer. They’re currently a junior at Interlochen Arts Academy, where they major in creative writing. They like safety pins and other shiny objects. Find them on Twitter @chlorinecrow.