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?

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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 2, 2012

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