Wondering Where All Of Her Boys Have Gone Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There are cowbells in the high basins,
In the guts of grizzly bears, in the wombs of
Sometimes stormy and sometimes yellow
Mountains;
And you can’t hear them, as they go through
The neck high weeds
And raspberry thickets- going to hibernate
In their caves as the rivers
Freeze,
And the tourists go away- yes, they go down
To her- and she serves them all winter
Even though there are no more wildflowers
Or ways up to heaven:
She serves them even though they find it
Difficult to carry on:
And on her way home, walking purposefully,
She looks up to those frozen basins wondering,
Wondering where all of her boys have gone.