That I Am Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I became ant, wouldn’t you turn into a knife
And cut me to pieces,
As afterwards you helped Charlie divide the sandias
For the wilting glaciers disguised as old ladies
Who hold in their bad vision all the versions of my unluckyness
After the last of your rabbits died in the rock garden
Of my childhood,
Alma- After my mother was electrocuted beside the washing machine
In the rainy carport,
And I saw Frederico Garcia Lorca kissing an otter or a
Unicorn;
And maybe Walkeen was deported tonight,
Alma, but I still got you to tell me that you loved me today,
With my back up against the royal palm
Near the fireworks tent, with impending fears of tidal waves,
And so many words misspelled or not even resurrected;
And maybe I cannot touch you right now;
And maybe I can never touch your, or maybe I will hold you in
The morning and turn your mouth back like my favorite
Wishing well who is beginning to moan my name;
And I think that I will: And I think that I am.