Is Believe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Is Believe



Starting out through the porticos and transoms of
A house:
Then the Pleiades, over looking the garden mazes of so many ways:
Wanting to go down the bleachers and ending up in the search
And kiss and f%ck
Underneath all of the windows whistling from the airplanes:
Eyes opening up on my wounded body,
Sounding its bugle to your lips: the forts are surrounded
And the enemy is filled with your uncles and brothers: they look so
Fine, reporting to themselves,
On horseback and in silver and gold, while your children
Suffer before the television;
And I told you that I loved you, and you shook your head and
Cried,
But then we made love: Let me say that we made love under the
Soft plates of lime in the orchards that the angels love:
Your sisters looking away to themselves,
Sleeping in their own room in the house that your father promised
To you,
Sleeping next to you but not by so many words;
While I caracole around you, flying like a boy who cannot die:
Families of cathedrals going up in smoke; I delayed you and you came,
But not in time to buy the flowers for the anniversary of your
Grandmothers’ death: Alma: and all of my art is weak,
And I am just trying to deceive for whatever reason that I cannot
Believe;
But I see you at the movies, and then I see you at my house-
And we walked hand in hand through the galleries today; and I
Tasted your mouth-
I am sure tomorrow I will bring you breakfast: a blueberry bagel with
Strawberry cream cheese; but whether or not you will like it
I don’t know:
All I can do is believe.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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