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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Lost and Found

For days I looked for myself
in the house,
on the roads.
I had misplaced myself somewhere,
under the bed,
behind a door.
But no luck,
I remained hidden,
perhaps given away,
thrown in the trash.

It was frustrating going back
time and again,
to the same places I had gone,
and saying,
where are you, Ted?
Where are you hiding?
Are there no words today?
Did you oversleep?
Or leave without a map
and can’t be found?
I keep looking.
I want to find you.

There is a silent wail in my ears.
A palpitation of the heart,
strange knocks on the wall,
as if you were tired of hide and seek,
and want to be found.
I think I’m going to call in the experts,
the children.
They are so good at finding things.
So fearless in their searching,
climbing up branches.

They repair broken hearts
by the dozen,
and fill a bag with them.
If you can be found
they will do it.
I already sense
that lost and found will have to
give you up,
and I’ll find you playing in the park
with the children,
as if you’d never been lost.

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