Spring 2011, Volume 10

Poetry by William Neumire

Today We Won

So quietly
we kept the machinery
of our narrative moving.
We found a new trail
& walked our dog
to the river. There was
mild weather & buds
on the trees & we
talked about a baby.
We went so quietly,
the dog looking over
its shoulder at intervals
to make certain
we were still there.
& we were.
The day obeyed
our irrelevant prayers
& a light breeze
persuaded us to look east
like a couple in a portrait.
We moved
between the trees
and watched the young
dog sniff. We smiled
& kissed & said
to each other
with our lopsided smiles
that there are other ways
a day can go.

"the sunlight has never heard of trees"

         — A. R. Ammons

We were still in this part
of our marriage. The black-haired
trees have grown green
with want of notice.
We hovered our craggy way
absorbing taps of mid-day sun.
The trails were mostly old hunting paths
when there was big game here.
Back home your parents were talking
to my parents. Maybe even
the sink was running over.
At the end of each trail
is the river.
We put our four throbbing feet
in the cold water and looked
askance at the sky. We knew
it would always be quiet here.



BIO: William Neumire's recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Los Angeles Review, Sow's Ear Poetry Review, and Sugar House Review. He teaches and writes in Syracuse, New York.