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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Keeping Up

I am walking with the speed of light.
Going to the playground with Jack and Michael.
We race ants into the grass.
Impenetrable distances.
A step or two at a time,
deceiving my crippled knee.

A stone, like a fallen asteroid
draws our eyes.
A piece of space,
and we search for others.
Step by step we advance.
Sticks and plastic beads,
Jack and Michael running off
to gather green cones off an evergreen,
and I pause,
midway between here and there,
life living, seeing what it wants to see,
that I do not walk well anymore
is unnoticed.

I am keeping up.
I go as well as I ever have,
exploring, looking at passing clouds,
watching the wind become visible in the dust,
while I move my feet
and think,
we’re almost there.
Papa’s keeping up.
What I do replaces what I can’t,
and it’s good enough.
Fast as a spaceship in Jackie’s eyes.
Michael calls me back to something else,
while the playground waits.

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