In The Open Against The Banks Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When they kept new time with the lotus
Weren't the maidens falling from the sky—
As if airplanes had wrecked with themselves—
Contemplative elements over
The soundless gardens—other avenues upon the
Way home from high school—
Each way of describing things another
Prospect for domestication—
Underneath the tent where we sell Christmas trees
And fireworks
And my father doesn't talk with me anymore:
She is so beautiful,
But she keeps with her family: all of the butterflies
As far away as Mexico—They seem to be
Remembering where they belong,
Out in the open against the banks and the lending houses:
I don't know how she will really survive,
But she keeps her children close to her, and otherwise
Doesn't seem to care.