And I have this dream of <br />Screaming my mothers name <br />As a child <br />In the carport- as it rains: <br />The frogs laugh at me, the sky throws its <br />Darts. <br />Airplanes are black phantasms- <br />And my mother, where is she: <br />Is she stuck to the black vine with him, <br />Kissing something that doesn’t <br />Have any feet: <br />Has she flown across the canal with him <br />And lost herself in the holly <br />With the paper airplanes <br />And forgotten school buses; <br />And how do the cats cry for her <br />When they wish to come milking at <br />Her feet? <br />Do they cry for her the way I cry for <br />Her- <br />And how can I go on the fieldtrip without <br />Her; and the washing machine <br />And the orange tree in the backyard seem <br />So empty without her: <br />And the moon doesn’t have anything <br />To still, <br />And I have no one to feed me, <br />Or to hold up my words to her light.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-her-light/
