Telemachus by Ocean Vuong

Like any good son, I pull my father out of the water, drag him by his hair

through white sand, his knuckles carving a trail the waves rush in to erase. Because the city

beyond the shore is no longer where we left it. Because the bombed

cathedral is now a cathedral of trees. 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, found the way a green bottle might appear

at a boy's feet containing a year he has never touched. I touch

his ears. No use. 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.

— Night Sky with Exit Wounds by Ocean Vuong (Page 7)