To A Vanished Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My mother was washing her was—Oh,
In a pieta-
Of orange and green tinfoil:
A beautiful thing that could never be spoken in between
The courtyards
And the baseball diamonds of high-high school:
And the heavens ushered the rains
Through the forests
As something feral was getting married—
And it only took so much of awhile to plead for justice:
Until she came out of the night,
The chinaberry trees confusing the heavens behind her:
And in the crooks of that manifested sorority:
Hidden things for children:
Pornography and Easter Eggs,
And the torn strings
Of kites that whisper of heaven forever lost on their
Way to a vanished sea.