The Strange Migrations Of Her Successful Weddings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Strange Migrations Of Her Successful Weddings



Open fair of wounded hearts taking too long at
Playing their game,
And caught in the harsh reality- they pullulate like
Gold fish
In drowning mockery underneath the sunshine:
This is what they said they would be doing
When they were little boys,
But as it turned out, it was different:
The traffic is all around like buzzards- the tourists
Are hot, but satiated,
And Saturn is very visible, turning around like
A ringed spotlight,
A ghost of her cherub husband floating over the
Shoulder of airplanes-
Casting down his eerie resilience on her birthday,
Singing to her brown skin as
She looks away from the massacre- all that is left
Of the gardens of a young forbearance-
That at first bloomed, and then caught a fire for
Her,
Only to drown in the consumptive airs,
To be left behind by the strange migrations of her
Successful weddings.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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