Where I Cannot Say Her Name Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Where I Cannot Say Her Name



Putting words together like playing,
Like guns
Over the landscapes where there is no airconditioning
As there is no returning of this love:
And now I know that it doesn’t feel real:
Little feet floating up mountains
Skirting lions with their tails between their legs,
Dead cars arranged in a certain way
And all made up in the yellow school yards of the desert
While I am waiting in the rock garden to be discovered
Not far afield from the scars and cenotaphs of
Conquistadors quilled like badges into the disappearing
Pornography;
This is where I always set out and happen to wait for
Her: this is where I cannot say her name.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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