The Warmth Of My Mother's Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tadpoles feel the warmth of my mother's
Eyes as she seems to sing to me off their warmth:
They are like butterflies riding seahorses—
And they will wake up in nine months in the origin
Myths of their playgrounds, and pretend to
Know so many things—as Nature takes off her clothes:
She is stepping outside at the edge of a mountain.
Looking down, it is like a kaleidoscope of bears and
Mountain lions, fighting resiliently for trees
And birthday presents—but they pause and they
All take notice as the factories and fruit markets
Shut down—and the woman that they love
Steps off the mountain and into her car and
Drives away.