Vincen Gregory Yu
White boy with periwinkle hair.
White teeth, wide eyes.
White boy whose cheeks
my father caught me graze with my lips,
last-ditch effort to perfect
a memory of white skin, white smell
in the gleam of morning.
Don’t be scared, white boy, it isn’t you
my father wants. It isn’t you
his one good fist desires. White boy
whose fist I could fit
in my mouth like a peach, sweat
on skin like sweet juice
sticking to my tongue.
I know I said I never knew
my father; he drowned at sea
before I was born. Now
you see him, undrowned, un-sea grass
and dross, hit me with his one good fist,
then walk away.
He’d never been to sea,
it’s a story I made up because
white boys love stories,
and you are a boy I love.
Once in a blue moon,
he shows up in this town, and I welcome
the whole of him, stench and fist
and firm grip on my chin.
I bleed purple and blue, then pour
iodine on cotton balls
I stick on broken skin, then pretend
I never bled. Do I scare you now, white boy?
It isn’t love
you’re meant to comprehend, you
who’ve known only tenderness.
Wait for me.
When he leaves, I’ll return to you.
Bruised and shaken, I’ll return to you.
Feast on peaches with you.
Photo credits:
Movie still from Call Me By Your Name (2017)