TWO POEMS by Tyree Daye

/ / home, Issue 10, Poetry

SAME OAKS, SAME YEAR

My cousin kept me and his little brother
saved me from our uncle’s

pit bull, then spent seven years
in prison for his set.

Every other word
he said was
blood.

            ***

Uncle Nagee showed us
how to make a BB rattle
inside a squirrel.

Two small holes,
enter and exit.

All summer I wondered
what leaves the body?

 

 

GIN RIVER

If the Neuse River was gin,
we would’ve drunk to its bottom,

its two-million-year-old currents,
shad, sunfish, redhorse, yellow lance.

All the blood from the Tuscarora War.

We would have drunk it all,
aunts and uncles would have led us in Big Bill Broonzy’s
“When I Been Drinking,”

until everything inside us began to dance
and we all joined in,

silt around our ankles,
everyone kicking sand.

 

 

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