Samuel Gray

Turnview Estates

I found a note on the ground, the red ground.

It said: Infested. Corrupt.

The clay was heavy wet. I turned it over.

I found a note on the ground, stuck to the heavy ground.

It said: The swerve of small-town eyes.

The church was in Moundville, not far down the road.

I’d been there once.

We’d been there once. All that heat,

a vine from every shadow sick and stretching for the light.


Samuel Gray makes his living as a carpenter in Tuscaloosa, AL. More of his work can be found in recent issues of Parcel, The New Orleans Review, CutBank, and Words Without Borders.
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    Ernest O. Ògúnyẹmí