RSS Feeds

Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

October Supper

The evening is full of porch sounds,
chairs, tables, a family having supper,
nephews, nieces, a child,
grandparents, couples.
Remarkably, each of these people
was a special child,
each now, an unusual compliment
of career, accomplishment, hidden meaning.
How does life come to pass around a table?
I feel the humid kiss of late October,
unusually warm.
We have dinner as in spring or summer.
The occasion of gathering
simply as a family,
one reason or another coming to pass
for a moment,
for a time when I see the evening
opening like an enchanted play.
A lotus of conflict and love and words.

When I was a boy,
on a boat bobbing on the bay,
when the sails of the Whistle Wing
lay like folded feathers,
and the gray horizon of the water
peered into my eyes,
I was alone with my family,
in a pearl of light.
In a time disengaged from relentless wandering,
and I knew something would grow in me,
a courage, a faith,
that there is a place for spirits
who shine with great intensity.
Who gather like the sparkle on the water,
who live in cold fire
and belong to the eternity
of a great sky.
And gather as a family,
now and then,
here and there,
and include me among them,
leaving a place that is mine.

Leave a Reply