Telemachus by Ocean Vuong Like any good son, I pull my father out of the water, drag him by his hair through sand, his knuckles carving a trail the waves rush in to erase. Because the city beyond the shore is no longer where he 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. The neck’s bruising. 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 goodnight: the way I seal my father’s lips with my own and begin the faithful work of drowning. Art by Brian Stauffer Recommended listening: Waxing Romantic - Travis Bretzer Links of the Day: Object of Affection The album to watch out for: The F16s' Triggerpunkte Tweet Your Art at NASA to Send It on an Asteroid Journey Libraries for Lighthouses
Father With Dog (short story)