"Out the Window" by Kelly Emmrich
To Chaeryang, my Korean name,
after Franny Choi
I’ll admit. I don’t know how to love you properly.
If at all. Only recently have I learned to stammer,
like a traffic light, from Sarah to 彩良 to 채량. You,
flashing green, flashing go, flashing while you still
can. You’re too easy to evacuate out of. A spear I’ll
hurl into startling awake. I bet you’ve never seen
yourself as a threat. Moonbeam that sharpens by
outsmarting itself. All the bright towns you’ve
skipped. Here’s another one to ransack, like a hand
suspect of its own fingers. It’s not too late. There’s
enough alleyway to terrify you in turning back
into who you mean. The sky is still sneaking through
as I’m lifting your veil. These skin-swept streets can survive
anything we smoke it. I’ve kept you vestigial and not
enough chimney. There’s so much damage here that I could
listen to pieces, shuffle into my bloodline like a dustpan.
Forgive me by heart. In every scene, the culprit leaves too
much behind. Here’s a clue that cures us of our gun-
grinning teeth. Slack jawed signal. In time, I’ll follow it without
expecting any safety in return. The yellow’s dilating the
lanterns lining our stenciled highway, failing faster than my forgetting.
I’m sifting through this ink-spill myth to keep you unimaginary.
If at all. Only recently have I learned to stammer,
like a traffic light, from Sarah to 彩良 to 채량. You,
flashing green, flashing go, flashing while you still
can. You’re too easy to evacuate out of. A spear I’ll
hurl into startling awake. I bet you’ve never seen
yourself as a threat. Moonbeam that sharpens by
outsmarting itself. All the bright towns you’ve
skipped. Here’s another one to ransack, like a hand
suspect of its own fingers. It’s not too late. There’s
enough alleyway to terrify you in turning back
into who you mean. The sky is still sneaking through
as I’m lifting your veil. These skin-swept streets can survive
anything we smoke it. I’ve kept you vestigial and not
enough chimney. There’s so much damage here that I could
listen to pieces, shuffle into my bloodline like a dustpan.
Forgive me by heart. In every scene, the culprit leaves too
much behind. Here’s a clue that cures us of our gun-
grinning teeth. Slack jawed signal. In time, I’ll follow it without
expecting any safety in return. The yellow’s dilating the
lanterns lining our stenciled highway, failing faster than my forgetting.
I’m sifting through this ink-spill myth to keep you unimaginary.
Sarah Yang is a senior at the Academies@Englewood in New Jersey. Her poetry has been awarded by the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, the Poetry Society of the United Kingdom, and Live Poets Society of New Jersey. Sarah currently reads for Butcher Papers. Her work appears in Yes, Poetry.
Kelly Emmrich is an illustrator and animator living and working in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Her work has appeared in the magazines Moonhood Magazine, Dream Noir, and Meat for Tea. She studied creative writing and animation at the University of Mary Washington. She is currently working as a beer label designer for a microbrewery in Afton, Virginia and also as a freelance animator and illustrator.
