Sisters Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the silver-gilled days of late November,
Thinking of what she became for Halloween,
She runs her dove-grey hands through the shoreline’s flesh—
On her shoulders, the sun is weeping the final fiery tears
For the day, like a debutant without a date for the ball;
Though she kneels stilly, she is running away, as
The daylight flees like a frightened horse over the
Far side of the continent, so comes the shivering night
With all of her sadness, because her friends are so
Distant and useless, but the sea seems to try and
Rise up to kiss her, like a secret caress shared between
Two woman, mere acquaintances, accommodating a dressing room—
She sees the sad fornications of the lonely world,
Bare-chested and homeless, she walks the streets
And wonders what she has become,
And wishes that she could dress in nothing but sea-shells,
And the whispers of men lost forever into the sea,
Taken from the quivering closet above the waves,
Becoming thoughts into her, like light finally reaching
Her from such great distances, thoughts she has always
Known and spent prayers for like a seafaring nun these nights
Upon the suppliant shore where her mind come undone
With the wilting of the day; Here, naked and reborn,
She no longer masks herself for the holiday of the dead;
She has become that costume, her earliest wish;
Eyes closed to trust, she reaches forward for a salty kiss
The curtained sea gives; Likewise, the night lays her body down,
Making love to both the woman and the sea.