Well, there were flowers outside <br />For sale, <br />And we moved amidst them, inhaling, <br />Stealing their perfume <br />As the bees did: this was something my <br />Uncle couldn’t save, <br />But he still has his unicorn in the cooler, <br />If you know what I mean, <br />As my grandfather was in his grave: <br />And the children who should have <br />Been to school, <br />Waited underneath the overpass where <br />The waves yet echoed: <br />And in those feral voices, a song- <br />The memories of sirens saturated there, <br />And the bells and the lips <br />Of naiads in their hurricanes- <br />So the secret orchestras were sung in the <br />Graffiti’s of their overcast cathedrals, <br />And at night at home <br />Sports continued being played- the <br />Gardens whispered, <br />And the family prayed- but through the daylight <br />Desires continued- streaking, foaming, <br />And answering- vibrations from extending <br />Shadows- going to brush their lovers <br />Across the sea- while in their classrooms <br />The lost girls forgot every memory they cared to <br />Keep of me.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/every-memory/
