William J Neumire
I moved so far
That no one knew our family name.
No one spoke of seeing us the night
Before at the supermarket, or reading
About our relatives in the local paper.
The first time I called back I was frying
Chicken on a secondhand pan
That smelled of food burnt
On it from other dinners.
And my motherís voice sounded
As if its clairvoyance stretched
Through the full tract of my life
When she said: All is well, and all
Will be well. What was I to know
Of the wife and children I hadnít met,
Of a dog Iíd buy and bury, of pictures
Iíd hang on the walls of a home that did
Not grow from my motherís cultured hands-
I knew only that everything my own
would have to be like this: echoing, full of space,
hard to settle into,
Like water almost frozen.
Brockport, New York
Adirondack Review, Poetry Midwest, Zuzu's Petals, 2River, AugustCutter, Blue Mesa Review, Melange, Pierian Springs, ThreeCandles, Stirring, etc.
Resonance of Kin (forthcoming from 2River View)
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