To Find Her Way Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Swallowing the whole penny
As some dogs look up at the strange sun—
And they cannot smell it,
Even as airplanes seem to leap over it:
This is the way that they go,
That they follow—
Some fourlegged fairytale in the pit of my
Stomach
Laughing through the pitch-fork forest
That is the desire of her hours—
And she languishes—
A girl with a nose bleed above tree line
And not enough bread crumbs to find her way home.