Brown Embers Of Your Children Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I cannot remember the points of your country—
Of how many star-fruit you put into a basket for a
Bitter easter,
Everything twined about your brown shoulders—
Brown rabbit made it all of the way from
Mexico to make love and hurt me for
A year and her embers
Until I decided to disappear because I kind of knew how—
Into the middle class into which I was supposed to ascend—
Busied at nothing,
And I found a wife whom I rode bicycles with
And fell in love with,
Even though I could do nothing about you—disappearing,
You left a scar
That contributed to my alcoholism and my afternoons
Alone troubled by what it was between you—
And the two brown embers of your children—
That would not allow you to leave-