Tyree Daye

Towards the Mouth of the River

triangles of blue on my face:

the fins of a salmon dying between

two rocks




light is my grandmother

closing her hands

pleading in air

thicker near the water




I’m a doe in my mother’s house

the water covering my hind legs completely

I drink from the deep end

of her body




I turn back into a river when I leave

step onto the porch

flood the yard

water never forgets

it’s water




whirling disease causes

some trout to chase their own tails

before they die

the fish disappearing

into little orange orbs




I’m circling this graveyard afraid

to walk the gravel road between the stones




I tell the light

of summers it left me quiet

holding a wound under a rusted faucet




“Towards the Mouth of the River” first appeared in American Poetry Review (APR).