The night before the Club Q shooting by Jonathan Fletcher

I was at the Stonewall Inn,

my roommate in tow,

his boyfriend, too, dancing

upstairs, moving

in sync, to Diplo, Kygo.

Around us swayed couples,

throuples, the uncoupled.

Above us hung rows

of rainbow flags. Below us,

the linoleum vibrated.

On stage, in knee-high

leather boots, Prada G Major

danced. In my chest,

I felt the bass. In the crowd,

I felt safe. I felt loved.

And waited for the beat to drop