Those Alienated Tatters Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Those Alienated Tatters



I’ve gone up the stairs and called down for
Ghosts above the strawberry fields,
The little plots that the locusts love, and the possessed
Men in their cars,
Adopted and up to no good- and somehow all of the
Best of us have lost important limbs,
While the dragon is fatly sated up in the winter-molested
Limbs of a feral Christmas tree;
And all of the white girls sleep like powdery ghosts
Contemplating proms,
But the girl I am thinking of is nocturnal and ringed by
Gold,
And her children come into and out of her bedroom at
Anytime while she is sleeping or making love;
And tomorrow I will meet her again at the fruit market,
Holding her eyes like a totem:
And maybe she will think of me, or maybe she will
Think of you,
While the ghosts swing and try to fly, even though they
Are only those alienated tatters that people once knew.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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