Second Iteration in D Major

by Sofia Vukovic 

Tonight no one’s the martyr. 

No obituaries. No donations. 

Tonight we try on each other’s clothes. 

You wear my mother’s and I, your father’s. 

And my God, we’ll dance. 

We’ll fall into triplets and waltz to a tune 

Only we can sing. 

Hold once more the right side of my neck, 

so you can feel where the clippers grazed the base of my skull. 

I wish we met when I was thirteen. 

I always craved a fistfight. 

I wish you were the one to punch me in the face. 

But your gentle hands would much sooner 

Bring out the man I’ve always waited to become. 

I steam the oxford shirt while the sun hits your cheek. 

Sundays of soft denim, reading the words of those much smarter than us. 

The citrus we bring is tender and bursting. 

Skin sticks to itself in the hot sun, 

And the trumpet plays a tune we remember. 

There are so many days to have this, 

And none will be taken from us.