After I’m Gone

The room will smell of olives
and oleanders.
I will want to wake up
and see the rain,
touch some faces with my fingertips,
and apologize.
I will want to kiss the earth
and take my eyes to a Mexican
cemetery.

But the air will be blue,
my loved one will be dressed
in black, soused, and in tears.
On the far side of town
will be a band headed for the madhouse.
My sons and daughters will
be playing games.

The pages of my manuscripts
will blow loose
and turn into flies.
Everyone will be killing flies
and I’ll be a romantic
again dreaming about crazy women
dressed in red.
I’ll be quietly dreaming
again after I’m gone.

by Luis Omar Salinas