Learning How To Fly Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Down at the high planes of nothing-
Well, at least we are starting somewhere, as the river
Sings and claps
And wets the hungry mouths of blue birds,
Meaning something special down in the fairyland canyons
Where my father gets lost
And becomes a new man- learns of dreams of wild horses,
And loses all of his money but not his lovely
Rose colored wife:
My mother, who entertained me with blue whales,
And ran with me to see the edge of the canals
Where the tadpoles and minnows
Were fishing for themselves, and the cats played and taught
Their purring, fire-like young to dance
In the shallows that they were too young to fear:
The sky an untouchable brilliance where the women who
Were yet to become my loves were still learning how to fly.