Tuesday, August 18, 2020

From Which I Flew by Tyree Daye

From Which I Flew 

Only together holding their hands in silence can I see what a field has done

to my mother, aunts and uncles.


The land around my grandmother's

old tin roof has changed,

I doubt she'd recognize it from above.

How many blackbirds does it take

to lift a house? I'll bring my living,

you wake your dead.


We have nowhere to go, but we're leaving anyhow,

by many ways. When they ask    why

you want to fly, Blackbird? Say


I want to leave the south

because it killed the first man I loved

and so much more killing.

Say my son's name,


his death was the first thing to break me in

and fly me through town.


If grief has a body it wears his Dodgers cap

and still walks to the corner store to buy lottery tickets

and Budweiser 40s.


I don't like what I have to be here to be.


All the blackbirds with nowhere to go

keep leaving.

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