Like A Fish In A Pool Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Like A Fish In A Pool

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I drink, I drink- My eyes burn like a fish in a pool:
My house says nothing:
Alma, you at last are at home with your husband and your children:
I think I want to die as beautifully as a bouquet thrust into the open wrists
Of a grave,
While I think of you: Alma,
I yet still live:
I turn, I pinwheel, and I give, over the sweet and youngish throats
Of all of those graves that all of the stars have turned their lights out for,
Forgetting how to save,
While all the racetracks turn in cursive, tucked in far beneath the snows,
While all the bodies tuck in perfectly beneath the perfect rows
And ghosts of the orange groves;
But Alma, don’t you know that I have a fireplace built from the same
Coquina stone as the Castillo de San Marcos in
Saint Augustine;
And, Alma, my sweet young Alma, with two everlasting butterflies
Birthed from your womb,
I ask you if you still don’t know anything: anything.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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