Through The Heavenly Fires Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It happened upon occasions that I was not
Here,
But I saw your grandmother out in her yard
Doing something with it:
She was barely dressed; and you see,
The cars are driving, driving
Across the interstate beside her. Soon she will
Be gone, sunken like the cordless
Reptiles beneath the billboards-
Sunken beneath the discarded mattresses,
And the burned out structures;
And the cars will still be driving, and I wonder
If you shall ever find a lock of her ashen
Hair at a flea market- I wonder if you will
Ever hold another trinket of her
In your hand again, while the fruit is sold
In the circus,
And the sun leaps through the heavenly fires.