An Immortal in Therapy

Some nights I love a woman for an hour
and drive miles away to forget her,
tell myself sheís died, or Iíve died
and itís over. I never succeed, of course;
I find myself calling back

to the part of me that takes nothing
seriously. It doesnít work to love this world
forever; it doesnít work to let hours crumble
around you, and rise and crumbleó
itís a normalized violence:

eventually days, seasons, even the girl
turning the corner whom I love entirely,
become another loss Iíve come to throw away
like the tear-away calendar pages inscribed
with a quote about living for the now.

William Neumire's work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Los Angeles Review, Stone Canoe, Main Street Rag, and Rattle. His chapbooks include Resonance of Kin (Pudding House, 2003) and Between Worlds (Foothills Publishing, 2003). He teaches in Syracuse, NY. (wjneumire@msn.com).

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761