Resurrecting The Girls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How can you help this life pulled by a string-
Coming home again,
Dragging itself to the curtain where the backyard should
Exist,
And crying to the midnight airplanes:
Looking up to the heavens where the gods should
Exist, breathing through the soap operas,
Causing the stigmata’s to occur upon the Chablis of
Housewives even in the earliest of afternoons:
And the thunder disrupts the inevitable returns of the
Commercials,
As the hurricanes turning like the saltlick of wishing
Wells:
Turning and turning, and becoming a poem
For the eels that lay tightroped into her grottos:
I think it was where we were skipping school:
And I think it is where we will appear again, donning our
Own departures,
And resurrecting the girls who cannot even remember our names.