Katrina Kaye

While our parents sit drinking
wine and discussing tomorrow,

we dress each other in mistletoe
and left over silver tinsel.

We make sashes of old strips of paper,
anklets and bracelets out of gold ribbon.

I am the one with the glittery bow,
you are the one in white.

With snips of the scissors
we turn one another into gypsy princesses.

You say we should paint our toenails red.
I say we should learn the violin.

Your mother gives us a tambourine,
faded blue peace sign on taut calfskin.

I poise my hand with imaginary bow
over invisible instrument

and with clanging clashes
we swish our juvenile hips.

We throw candy coins at each other’s feet
as we dance in the hallway to a rhythm-less beat.

After they have all gone to bed,
you trace the lifeline of my right hand

and tell a fate of sparrows crippled by autumn
with you in the past and migration destined.

I press my future between your lips
and believe every word.

“First Kiss” is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014) and A Scattering of Imperfections (2009).