by Linda Pastan
Ash
We fall like leaves,
anonymous as snow,
like ash, like weeds
under some farmer’s hoe.
We fear the dark
and watch the light recede.
We know death smiles
on every child conceived.
The moon goes on,
relentless in the sky;
in cold complicity,
the stars comply.
Remember me.
(How did it grow so late?)
Anonymous,
I turn the page. I wait.
Linda Pastan's most recent collection is Queen of a Rainy Country (2006). She lives in Potomac, Maryland, and is a former state poet laureate.
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