this summer we will share the brown satchel.

for emily


we will fill it with clementines
pack the spaces between
with rough amethysts and then pour
iced coffee to close the gaps
we will

paste snapshots of our
feet and knees to the side that is
faded by hours in the sun and
paint the pebble beach in nice on
the other side for brightness
we will let sand and salt dry
in the paint, let our fingertips press
in texture, names, kinship

we
will latch the lock and swallow
pieces of the key one at a time
and we will use blood, ours, to write
a note on the handle that says
once, a long way from normal

when we hide it in September
in the back of the closet
will you forget it’s there? will i?
or will we every day wander into the dark
wipe dust with our shirtsleeves
see if it glows?