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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

With Reuben

The bay smells of fish,
life drenched in its own salt.
Sails lift their shark fins
from the waves.
You cut scraps of wood
into boats,
fashion tinfoil sails
and push them carefully to the waves.
A flotilla of ships,
the sky falling on us,
father and son,
the wind cutting our faces.
You never changed.
You melted away when I turned my head.
I screamed in the loneliness
you left.

I never go there anymore.
I have not seen that jetty in years.
But the stones bare themselves
to the water’s endless pounding
and keep me awake.
I am so afraid when I remember,
when I hear the sound,
remember my father
looking into the distance,
as if something were buried there
that drowned,
over and over again.

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