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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Grandmother Nan

She wore dark dresses
and smelled of cotton and wool.
Eyes the color of mist and marsh.
She was a mountain of integrity.
Her face belonged to virgin ground,
pioneers,
a bygone age.
She lived in your heart.
What a soft dove I was,
but she cradled me in her arms,
her strength for the small and helpless.

I see no trace of her face in mine,
the deep ridges and care,
the determination,
the immense character of soul.
Her life was unpainted wood,
ridges, exposed, compassionate,
and honest.

She loved her children,
her grandchildren,
everyone else’s children,
quintessential mother,
hands covered with cords of blue,
holding whatever she had for you,
the odor of life,
the comfort of a touch,
hot buns from her oven.

She never failed me.
She was the earth
in a strong and lasting way.
I hid in her arms.
I pulled at her sweaters,
and one morning
while she slept,
she shared her dreams with me,
and drifted away.

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