How Do You Get to Harlem?

By TYREE DAYE

What did I know of skylines,
of a sea of brown faces not in a field,
but walking down Lenox Avenue?

Our cousins from New York talked about Harlem
the way our aunts, with their Sunday stockings
drying over the shower curtain like tobacco leaves,

talked about a heaven. I tried to imagine
a skyline where a patch of pines stood and swayed.

Every summer when they’d visit we’d make a moon around them
and listen to stories about city life,

my mother always in the background shaking her head—
she could hear us leaving already.

My favorite part was the train,

how it can take you
where you needed to be.

 

Tyree Daye is a poet from Youngsville, North Carolina. He is the author of two poetry collections: River Hymns, which won the 2017 APR/Honickman First Book Prize, and Cardinal, forthcoming from Copper Canyon Press in 2020. Daye is a 2017 Ruth Lilly Poetry Fellowship Finalist and Cave Canem Fellow. Daye’s work has been published in Prairie Schooner,The New York Times, and Nashville Review. Daye won the 2019 Palm Beach Poetry Festival Langston Hughes Fellowship, is a 2019 Diana and Simon Raab Writer-in-Residence, and is a 2019 Kate Tufts Discovery Award Finalist.

[Purchase Issue 17 here.]

How Do You Get to Harlem?

Related Posts

cover of HEIRLOOM

March 2025 Poetry Feature: Catherine-Esther Cowie’s Heirloom

CATHERINE-ESTHER COWIE
Raise the dead. The cross-stitched / face. Her eye-less eye. My long / longings brighten, like tinsel, the three-fingered / hand. Ashen lip. To exist in fragments. / To exist at all. A comfort. / A gutting. String her up then, / figurine on the cot mobile. / And I am the restless infant transfixed.

Tomato on tomato plant

A Tomato Behind a Glass Cage

SARAH WU
Through the glass, we watch her pour a pale yellow substance from a small white bucket. It splashes against spots of red tomatoes. She’s using urine! the alumna says excitedly. I wonder at how easily this old woman in the glass cage has become foreign. How ancient, and how strange.

Dispatches from Mullai Nilam, Marutha Nilam, and Neithal Nilam

VIJAYALAKSHMI
There is fire everywhere, / both inside and outside. / Unaware of the intensity of the fire, / they maintain silence / like the serenity of a corpse. / From the burning fire / bursts out a waterfall tainted in red. / All over the shores have bloomed / the flaming lilies of motherhood.