Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,163 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Heavens Over Lighthouses - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sounds of your memory—what does
It mean, all of those diseases:
Thinking and thinking of Colorado
Where my mother was born outside of Denver—
In just a little slip of a vale—
In a house next to a house built by a blind man—
Against all of those busied echoes up against
The canyons:
Maybe she was in love with her brother when she
Was in her youngest years:
But she graduated high school, got married
And had children—and her husband—her husband
Is my father:
Man from
Michigan—fat as a hummingbird over the used car
Ports and junk yards—while all of the time
Around his neck a beautiful sun weighing him down like
A jewel—
He was too busied to understand,
Or to truly be in love with her: my mother—my mother—
Windmills turn in the heavens—over lighthouses
And libraries—but what is there left to say?


Comments about The Heavens Over Lighthouses by Robert Rorabeck

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Monday, April 2, 2012



[Report Error]