Worrisome sunlight in the green grass overgrowing <br />Her skirts until this is heard- <br />The sky up in echoes; it is just sweating, <br />Curling in the vespers of marionettes and Queen Anne’s <br />Wheels: <br />It tumbles, as if looking for gold, as my alma <br />Holds her child, <br />As if beneath the strong shadows of a fort: <br />As if in an apple orchard- <br />And the sea feels as if they day is alright- <br />The women are buried anonymously beneath the rose <br />Bushes, <br />But she has come so far away to get here: <br />But I suppose that still she cannot lose her husband- <br />Her brownness is brilliant, <br />As she looks away- thinking of who she would most <br />Like to be in love with, <br />And I do not suppose that it will be me, <br />But very soon I will be running away to Mexico, <br />Or New Mexico, <br />And I not suppose that she will follow me: <br />But when I come back, she will be there, kissing the right <br />Fellows, <br />The rain and butterflies collecting in the gutters, <br />And as we hold hands, the housewives following the perfectly <br />Newborn terrapin into the midwife’s sea.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-midwife-s-sea/
