Treasure Island

Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Bears Discover Fire


In poems, wounded, waiting again for the airplanes-
Watching the bag ladies beside the traffic,
Their noses turned up to the silver underbellies
Of flying things:
Entirely enamored by such armies: professionals themselves
In some ways,
While the days burn- in ash, float up
To whatever spaces the giants haunt: repossessed,
I await in a forest,
Body naked- the dryads drinking with the foxes at the
Fountain in the base of the mountains,
My brown girl far away from me:
In another land, where she suffers from honoring her
Father and her mother,
As the kites sail away into dollar store tatters,
The lucky ones kissing the souls of the shoes flung up
With the doves, and languishing in the halfway house
That keeps telling ourselves to one another,
Even the angels touching down to hibernate
As the bears discover fire.

Submitted: Sunday, February 13, 2011
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