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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Civil Rights Speaker

He was very sincere this black man,
talking about civil rights.
About where he had come from.
How he stood out being of color,
and I felt my childhood drift ashore,
somewhere in a boat,
out of cold mist,
out of the morning
with the loon calling from the forest.
The black man and I were twins.
I rose in the darkness,
and like a serpent shed my skin.
I became white as I lifted my oar,
coming in on the water of soft fog.
And he and I parted.
He kept his blackness like a trophy.
I lost mine like an adversity,
a parting.

He talks with a smile above great sadness.
I weep for him.
I cry for myself.
I cannot understand how the beach lost us.
How morning rose above the mist
and we were alone.
He was gone.
I was deserted and went with no faith
into the reeds,
and the forest opened its arms,
and I forgot my brother
and my birth.
I forgot the great journey
of our planetary ship.
I forgot the pyramids we built,
and the armies we led.

I wished only to go home
and take my brother with me,
away from his civil rights,
and his loneliness.
I missed him and our family of huge souls.
I had wandered away,
not knowing how deep the loneliness
of my heart had become.
Except I wanted his arms about me,
two brothers,
who lost each other in that morning,
among the waves,
which never forgot our voices.

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