Night Sky with Exit Wounds

by Ocean Vuong

I hold the gun & wonder if an entry wound in the night would make a hole wide as morning.

That you were not born but crawled, headfirst— into the hunger of dogs. My son, tell them the body is a blade that sharpens by cutting.

The body was made soft to keep us from loneliness.

Just tell me the story / again, / of the sparrows who flew from falling Rome, / their blazed wings. / How ruin nested inside each thimbled throat / & made it sing

At home, I threw myself on the bed like a torch & watched the flames gnaw through my mother’s house until the sky appeared, bloodshot & massive.

Maybe we pray on our knees because god only listens when we’re this close to the devil.

only beautiful enough to be found with a hook in your mouth water shook like sparks when they pulled you out

I shouldn’t have, but he had the hands of someone I used to know. Someone I was used to.

the way the hunted, for centuries, must bend over its own reflection to drink.

Quickly— I drill the ink into a period.

Your father is only your father until one of you forgets. Like how the spine won’t remember its wings no matter how many times our knees kiss the pavement.

The most beautiful part of your body is where it’s headed.

Because the difference between prayer & mercy is how you move the tongue.