Holy Grail

Holy Grail

Facebook
Twitter
Email
Flipboard
Pocket

My father changed
his name to Henry

and became King
of white people.

He pulled my spine
from my back

to prove he commanded
the holy sword.

Holy bone.
The half-corpse

of his firstborn.
I moved

as he willed. I danced.
I prostrated

myself at his feet
and said Lord.

And father. Holy
father. I rose

when he introduced
me to his partner,

an old white man
who reads books

about Buddhism.
This was the first step

towards enlightenment:
find a Vietnamese man

who has left one
body for another.

The new body a grail
for a gay immigrant

father. I am just a reminder
of the old ways. The boat

people didn’t answer
the ocean’s song

when they rowed. The ones
who did went under.

All of them leaving
behind a world

I will never understand.
This is what I mean

when I say I am spineless.
When I said my father

took it from me, I meant
to say God exists,

and he is my father,
life-bringer, holy

immigrant. My body now
my own forever.

Dear reader,

I hope you enjoyed the article you just read. It’s just one of the many deeply-reported and boundary-pushing stories we publish everyday at The Nation. In a time of continued erosion of our fundamental rights and urgent global struggles for peace, independent journalism is now more vital than ever.

As a Nation reader, you are likely an engaged progressive who is passionate about bold ideas. I know I can count on you to help sustain our mission-driven journalism.

This month, we’re kicking off an ambitious Summer Fundraising Campaign with the goal of raising $15,000. With your support, we can continue to produce the hard-hitting journalism you rely on to cut through the noise of conservative, corporate media. Please, donate today.

A better world is out there—and we need your support to reach it.

Onwards,

Katrina vanden Heuvel
Editorial Director and Publisher, The Nation

Ad Policy
x