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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Things I Do Not Talk About

My heart jumped
and floundered like a boat
and I said, yes.
Yes to yesterday and my regrets.
Yes to mortality.
Yes to the inconvenience of dying.
Yes to weariness.

And then I asked,
what museum will hold pictures
of our lives?
Display our countries?
Who will look at us
and see our lives in ribbons
and dishes,
playing with children,
waging war,
show the streets we lived on?

And who will note the signatures
of them,
their creators.
And say abstract, classical,
or sad,
someone I could love,
And then
at night when the walls recede
into shadows,
hear them call out
and say to each other,

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