The Shades Your Lake Reflects Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Other women are jealous of Sara Teasdale,
Even though they should not know who she is:
That is why her name doesn’t show up
In more poetry anthologies;
And it has been a day or two since I’ve masturbated,
And another week beyond that since I folded a paper
Airplane,
And years since I’ve been to the zoo and seen a
Male peacock in real life;
For they are the ones who are most beautiful,
Strutting legs-forth outside the otter’s den where the
Mermaids try to represent you sheer-blooded
Motherhoods;
Then with grandmother, we could go and get astronaught
Ice-cream,
Or pretend that we were at the movies,
Or fall asleep down the little jeweled declivities of
Famished canals,
But grandmother is dead, and she cannot take us there anymore;
So I am still waiting for you to take me there,
Sharon,
But you have your own daughter now, Sharon,
Who will eventually make you matriarchal in your old age.
She is your spitting image,
And I love the shades your lakes reflects,
Though it would not behoove you to appreciate who
I am.