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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Box on the Shelf

When you pull the mementos
from my shelf,
take one thing with you,
a box of acorns and sticks,
dried petals and stones,
little agates of sand and asphalt,
slivers of paper,
remnants of puffballs,
stems curled up like snakes,
and with them
silence and words.
Visions of a boy extending his hand,
giving me crab apples to hold,
because they were beautiful.
A smile wrapping them in ribbons,
things the dust carried
clinging to his fingers,
holes in the ground
put invisibly in the box.

I threw nothing away.
I was his caretaker of treasures.
I was PaPa,
learning
when the world becomes dark,
enters a storm,
dries up without hope,
there are singular voices
to heaven,
gifts found by the innocent
and gentle.
That is what is in the box,
what you’ll see
if you cherish such things.
Be glad for yourself if you find them.
Be glad for me,
and love Jackie first
and most of all.

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