Mia Bienamada Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Welcoming her brown skin into my room:
She lingers here even though she doesn’t call all weekend:
Mia bienamada cannot see my scars,
And I remember how she almost slipped away after fireworks:
How I wept and grasped at straws in her car,
While the insouciant traffics flourished back and forth,
The sea sashaying without a care:
But to her, my comeliest muse, I have laid myself bare:
And she has come back to me, like a heartbeat finding a graveyard:
She has lit me up like an umbrella of a firework
In the emptiest part of New Mexico- and she has found the
Coyotes in my eyes- and she has shown me all of the hardest stones
Of her childhood that she could- and this is how she happens
To remember herself as she wakes up all alone on Monday,
Late for work- her body already fibrillose as a bee in its last season,
The honey drowned into a pool or spent at the flea market
Underneath the overpasses that leave when the better parts of her
Family leave or are all donated- until she finally has to alight awake-
And see me preposterous, and beyond dreams:
A conquistador for her new children, a storybook awaiting the nudity of
Her fingertips and open eyes:
As I lay for her there in a coliseum of my drunken loneliness,
A catastrophic illusion who refuses to leave the paint of her senses;
Until she recognizes it and smothers it with the breasts of her
Acceptance as something else more deserving the deepest auburns
And most feral séances of her love.