POETRY

En el dia de los muertos

the dead do not die
they live so long as one remembers
so do I, so do I

remember all that’s happened
and all that now is dead
swirling in the cosmos
the cosmos of my head

in every face and grimace
is a memory I see
of one no longer living
except in me, in me

all the days before now
are as dead as dead may be
dead to all the world
except to me, to me

skeletons in closets
of past actions I abhor
glower and scratch incessantly
at my door, at my door

locked within my soul
engraven in my core
my dead days will be with me
forever, ever more…

matt landers 10/31/03