Until She Thinks To Look At Me Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All the clouds have woken up—
Just you know what they’ve been doing,
While my ancestors were farming the jaundice
Celery;
And Sharon in Colorado tasting her canines
While the clouds look over
All the plum-thumbed children expectantly;
All their parents just as sweet as cadavers they
Never knew they were:
Then the world is such a quieted place and
So beautiful and just in time for sex underneath
The broken down school buses in the penumbras
Of an inept school yard,
The terrapins have been busy suckling—and
Suckling all through the word as it was awakening up;
And she put her hands into the clay and has forgotten
To mouth off to her dead father—
The weather farts just in time for parade,
And all of it was a long time ago while I looked at
Her and she looked far, far away;
And even further still through the sad eyes of the stained
Glass of churches I have never thought to heal,
But she still wears green stars around the lips of her
Child and they will never die until she thinks to look
At me.