Night Sky with Exit Wounds

by Ocean Vuong

He lifts her white cotton skirt, revealing another hour. His hand. His hands. The syllables inside them.

there’s a lighthouse / some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means is that I don’t know

although I am still too far to hear it, I can tell, by the way his neck tilts to one side, as if broken, that he is singing my favorite song to his empty hands.

Brooklyn’s too cold tonight & all my friends are three years away. My mother said I could be anything I wanted—but I chose to live.

I am ready to be every animal you leave behind.

the boy who finds you beautiful only because you’re not a mirror

he dies the second his name becomes a tooth in your mouth.

Look how it rocks you back & forth like a slow dance

Silly me. I thought love was real & the body imaginary.

They say the sky is blue but I know it’s black seen through too much distance.

From men, I learned to praise the thickness of walls. From women, I learned to praise.

Woke up screaming with no sound. The room filling with a bluish water called dawn. Went to kiss grandma on the forehead just in case.

Ocean, don’t be afraid. The end of the road is so far ahead it is already behind us. Don’t worry. Your father is only your father until one of you forgets.

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

Here’s the room with everyone in it. Your dead friends passing through you like wind through a wind chime.

so what—if my feathers are burning. I never asked for flight.