Robert Rorabeck Poems

The herald of the kings mother has gone
Up again,
Like a stork in shallow water; coming out of
The bath,
...

If mothers find themselves carrying the broken
Colors of their children at their elbows,
These mulatto children
Given gringo names- if they linger all out of doors
...

Lining up in the judgment of the
New rain:
What will the children do?
What will they sing?
...

With everything there is a
Word:
On tree or branch or
Bird.
...

Now I am afraid of this scar,
And another picture: the other students are holding
Starfish in their upturned hands,
Asking how they can be so easily divided.
...

Lost in the deep symbols of the deep
Vermillion deep,
But diving again, diving forever wishing
For the jewelry chests of her
...

Globe with stars and caesuras
And very little else:
Very simple world:
Child world, bring tears to my eyes,
...

Animals of toys and cloth,
Or my mother’s hands brushing the rough
Skin of
Christmas trees. She is even saying to
...

Or a day of rowboats out on the lake,
Seen through the beaded curtain:
A new day, bright as seeds- there was a whole
Room for her,
...

Little squalls of luxury looking over the
Riverbanks,
New carless words birthed from the furrowed
Lips of the forest besides
...