A Little Closer To The Edge 

By Ocean Vuong

Young enough to believe nothing
will change them, they step, hand-in-hand,
 
into the bomb crater. The night full
of  black teeth. His faux Rolex, weeks
 
from shattering against her cheek, now dims
like a miniature moon behind her hair.
 
In this version the snake is headless — stilled
like a cord unraveled from the lovers’ ankles.
 
He lifts her white cotton skirt, revealing
another hour. His hand. His hands. The syllables
 
inside them. O father, O foreshadow, press
into her — as the field shreds itself
 
with cricket cries. Show me how ruin makes a home
out of  hip bones. O mother,
 
O minutehand, teach me
how to hold a man the way thirst
 
holds water. Let every river envy
our mouths. Let every kiss hit the body
 
like a season. Where apples thunder
the earth with red hooves. & I am your son.