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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Tea Room of the Perfect Lady

The flowers of May
at the center of tables.
Sun rising from painted cotton,
sugar bowls,
cream urns.
Ladies chirping with the
voices of girls,
the knots of viburnum and orange
in the yarn of conversation.

Smell of crusts and yeast,
and cinnamon,
always morning,
bright with its inner rainbow of youth.
Old women playing with the poetry
of children,
advancing words and songs
between themselves,
among the neighborhood of chairs,
hats, spoons.

Laughter,
lyrical,
free.
I’ve heard that sound
by seaside places
where children run
and scatter sand like sugar,
with eyes open like violets
with their orbs of light.
The shoulders of the sky
the draperies of the room.

And the women tell it all,
the tales of their romances,
the coming-homes,
the festivals of happiness
in their lives.
Graveyards adorned with roses,
and the sweet scent of tea,
the laying down of spoons
ladling the light.

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