Ryan Wilson

Anactoria

 

After you die, who will remember you
love to pass summer evenings in the shade,
the lindens green along the avenue,

dancing to all the old songs like they’re new,
teasing boys, sipping a spiked lemonade?
After you die, who will remember you

take home the cute ones, and their girlfriends too,
lovers behind you strung in sad parade,
the lindens green along the avenue

as if they never had a thing to do
but shimmer resolutely, unafraid?
After you die, who will remember you?

You watch day break, and weep at the bruised blue
of the horizon till the sun’s displayed
the lindens, green along the avenue.

Days fail. Loves pass. We move on with the new.
Then it’s the endless field where roses fade.
We are the dust. No one remembers you.
And the lindens still green all down the avenue…