by Lawrence Lee
When I die
There will be white lilies
Snipped and clustered somewhere
Within your sight
But not mine.
Better, I think,
That they should have been left to
Live out their lives
With others of their living kind.
You would have been happy at that.
No one will attend but you,
And you are worth a million dead lilies
To the young ones in my family–
And the older ones, too, truth be told–
I have been a ghost for years,
A white, disjointed thing
Burdening short memories.
For the others in my life
I have been
Than a spectral shadow reflecting
In storefront windows.
I will be less then,
But not by much.
And when I die
a flute will play Dido’s Lament
and a voice will sing:
And I will have not a care in the world.