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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Jackie and Me

He hunches,
looking into the kingdom
of the dirt pile.
His stick furrows
between sections of sidewalk,
as he examines green moss,
diminutive stones,
scattering ants,
exclaiming, Oh! Oh!
Come see Papa!

And I bend down to his world,
the one I left,
and now, am invited to see.
Yes, Jackie, that’s an ant.
What a pretty stone!
And pleased,
he goes on looking into the harps,
and horns and mud of the world.
The kingdom of poetry.

His eyes concentrate.
He goes on as I lift my bulk up,
a heavy mass of muscle and time.
How privileged I am!
How blessed that he has me!
Includes me!
Shows me,
the lightness still of my legs,
the shout inside my heart.
How much I can feel for this boy
playing above the basket of the earth.

Jackie shows me home.
Pulls me from the distant glance
of my eyes.
From the stare gone inward,
into the wall,
past the pictures and songs,
until I am alone
and nowhere.
He pulls me back.

Not now Papa,
he says with his eyes.
Be with me!
I am looking into life!
Into the center of vastness,
and find beautiful toys,
bits of earth and trees,

Jackie knows,
as I know,
looking after him.

A grandfather,
touched by the heaven
inside his grandson.
Loving him,
covered with sun,
a small voice
showing me our connection
to time,
to earth,
to life,
beyond understanding.

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