Ocean Vuong

I kneel beside him to see how far

I might sink. Do you know who I am,

Ba? But the answer never comes. The answer

is the bullet hole in his back, brimming

with seawater. He is so still I think

he could be anyone’s father

I turn him

over. To face it. The cathedral

in his sea-black eyes. The face

not mine—but one I will wear

to kiss all my lovers good-night:

the way I seal my father’s lips

with my own & begin

the faithful work of drowning.

He moves like any

other fracture, revealing the briefest doors. The dress

petaling off him like the skin

of an apple. As if their swords

aren’t sharpening

inside him. This horse with its human

face. This belly full of blades

& brutes. As if dancing could stop the heart

of his murderer from beating

between his ribs.