80
Lillian
I play a fragment of my newest song on the ukulele and hum the melody. Sasha catches it and hums along for a bar or two before the music playing from the other room interferes.
They recognize it even though they’ve only heard it once. Last night, lying in my bed.
Put your heart on my hand
Some kind of promise
I’m nonsense at those
But I’m proud
What I know as honor
Is being willing to die
For what not everyone
Will believe in
What I know as honor
Is loving the fight
Whether or not
You can win
I keep my fists up
For what makes me
Drop my guard
For the mosh pits
For the protest forests
For the aging punk bands
For all the brave plans
And for your heart on my hand
It’s all for your heart on my hand
I keep my fists up
For what makes me
Drop my guard
“I liked that.”
Sasha’s voice was sleepy and warm like their skin.
“What was it?”
“New words,”
I said.
“Just some words.”