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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Dental Filling

Between the oscillations of a
dental drill I conjure
the decay from weather
on the great molars of the vast
cordillera of mountains,
from the Cascades of the north
to the seminal Andes of the south.
The gnawing of water,
with its ferocious abrasions
from relentless storms and showers,
the sweetness of streams
and marauding hurricanes.

The grinding and cracking of ice.
The pale pearls left by the small
fragile lives of rodents,
consuming the grain and seeds
in the diaspora of life,
living in our shadows.
Truth, embedded in the mortuary of rocks,
of ages so profound
they seem as if alien to our world.
Yet in them the wisp of our destiny,
the edible flowers of our creation,
ascending to poetry.

These fragmentary thoughts
occurring as the dentist works on
a fault in my teeth.
Replacing enamel, so I can
in the remaining moments of my life
chew on,
and be grateful to the skill
of her hands and eyes,
returning their ability
to crush the fruits and juices
of the earth,
until someone, someday
finds their remnants
of once upon a time.

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