That Bit Of Mexico Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Soon you won't have to remember—how your children
Left off from the movie theatre of your
Umbilical cord—while you were still alive
Knowing nothing of me,
As I sold fireworks for my father across the unbusied
Deserts we stole from your
Father's country: already pregnant, you took a bus
To this sweltering peninsula—maybe you
Love with somebody else—then you fell in love
For a little while with me,
But always found your way back to him—that bit of
Mexico transplanted in America I had already stolen away
From you.