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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Terri Schiavo

The woman who never harmed anyone.
Who sought some inner face
to put on her body.
Who in the translation of her hope
of becoming pretty,
destroyed the country of herself,
dying the slow death of a destroyed mind.

A tube providing nourishment
for the forbidden life in herself,
taken away,
and opens the door to human despair.
Before Easter,
hopefully she will be dead of starvation,
or her heart collapse from dehydration,
a legal euthanasia.

She stares from the television
like a prophet,
too late for sunrise,
for rain
to rinse the street clean,
make the air fresh,
have a light
kindle in her eyes.
And allows us to say,
this doesn’t happen
in the kingdom of love,
where we came from.
Why did it here?

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