Running In These Seas Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The night is full of somnolent scars,
Black men stealing cars under the Pleiades,
And I still have no right to spell out
For your dreams,
Running my lonely fingernails across the
Latin chalkboard to wake you up;
If you don’t want a husband, but want to
Eat from his lunch truck:
That is fine with me- There are so many avenues,
And so many shoes to try on,
Even if they’re all hanging from the power lines
Like the airplanes,
Like Christmas ornaments:
And, like the poetesses from Saint Louis said,
These are rivers to the sea,
But beneath the eyes there can be so many seas.
And to set your toes into any number of them
Can be such a challenge,
And I wonder if you will ever name your children
After the life you find running in these
Seas.