For Even Brighter Fields Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the art class of your eyes there was a fire,
When all of the kindergarteners were on a fieldtrip
To the communal wishing well-
Then you still couldn’t even see me, but you
Thought of the insouciant canal your day laborers
Dug for you, and to your backyard which made
Shipping your gifts easier;
And they laid out busier poems for you an
Cracked oysters on their bare chests underneath
A sky that was a blue junkyard and even the
Blue birds came down your avenue bringing gifts
To place underneath your armpits hoping that
They could birth their young there: you were a
Virgin at this time, and there was no central air-conditioning
In your house: there were bars on your windows,
But the sun wasn’t as hot; it still evaporated the pleasant
Vapors in your yard, and in the winter you went to
See your great uncle in Clearwater, but there was
Only more paper snowflakes and more tears for me.
I sometimes haunted your palmettos with a
Dwarf, but you became more and more busier and more
And more indoors- and soon you left those daydreams
For even brighter fields of even more brilliant forget-me-nots.