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