Who She Is At All Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Seashells I once had,
Buried by the throats of daycare:
When I drive alone, I look at the fire through the
Clouds:
I see a woman from Columbia driving everywhere:
As lost as I am,
Only that she has found love, and very successfully
Left her husband behind in
Columbia:
I bought my little house on her birthday,
But fell in love with another girl for a year:
She too already had a husband lost in a cloudy
Bedroom where she sleeps with him,
Her two children all twisted around her- sometimes
They look up and they see that she is their mother;
And sometimes they look up and do not know
Who she is at all.