To Figure Out Who You Are Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The party lasses are at their sport
Batting eyes across the flight plans of their daily tennis
Courts:
And you ring up their acts on your machine Alma:
And half of your fingers are ringed:
And at least four with hearts from all the loves you couldn’t
Forget,
And one of those hearts my heart- the newest one, the whitest
One,
But please be blessed and remember that I bought it from
Your tia and its band is made from 14 karat gold
From Guerrero Mexico,
But today I bought you flowers and you would not tell me the
Name of the town in which you were burn,
And you would not say that you loved me:
It must be hard for any woman, or especially you: and you think
On so many things and all in one day:
I can see your eyes going to the sacred places of the virgins
I could barely begin to understand:
But there you are in my world, blowing me kisses,
And holding my hand:
And when I spend my wishes, sometimes we make love:
And I told you that my heart fills like a bet at the fair:
Spinning, spinning through the epilepsy of gaudy lights,
Praying that it should never have to come down
To figure out who you are.