Thanks for Remembering Us
The flowers sent here by mistake,
signed with a name that no one knew,
are turning bad. What shall we do?
Our neighbor says they're not for her,
and no one has a birthday near.
We should thank someone for the blunder.
Is one of us having an affair?
At first we laugh, and then we wonder.
The iris was the first to die,
enshrouded in its sickly-sweet
and lingering perfume. The roses
fell one petal at a time,
and now the ferns are turning dry.
The room smells like a funeral,
but there they sit, too much at home,
accusing us of some small crime,
like love forgotten, and we can't
throw out a gift we've never owned.
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Comments about this poem (Thanks for Remembering Us by Dana Gioia )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
James Whitcomb Riley
(7 October 1849 - 22 July 1916)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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