Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,308 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Through Your Unspeaking Roof - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In your days of making friends I don’t suppose you counted
On how many hands you’d have to hold,
Your eyes as brown as a politician’s sun, until the night slipping
Over the gold-dog world and taking away all of
Its fireworks and fanfares,
And all of the lights that we were so lucky to breathe during the
And returning you to him, dolled into the playgrounds of your
Bedroom where I can only guess of what he does there every night to
Brown-silver as the moon inside your window, even while I slept
Inside your house, and the television made a paramour of your shadows;
And maybe five trucks slept on your little lawn,
Overgrown but fanciful, as if this was Mexico:
I could only suppose what sort of love he made to you while my
Heart beat down like the hammer of a butterfly is morris code of brail
Through your unspeaking roof.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, September 15, 2010

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