Thanksgiving I
The clouds lie gray and flat as lace
Through the windows, tucking the
Pale brown land in at the corners
Like a child who can never
Be too warm at night. Even with
Mittens on, my hands feel frozen,
But it doesn’t matter and I don’t care
Because all I can think of
Is how the dull cornfields blur
Like a swarm of paper-gold birds
As the car rushes by, how they bounce
Off the walls of the frail red
Diladipated barn and riddle
It with comets.
Thanksgiving II
It is as curious as
Dog hairs and glasses of wine
And late lunches, as itchy
As idle chatter or stupid questions
That get on your nerves and make
Your head hurt. It is like those
Short glances from the cousin you
Never see and never speak to,
The polite nods you give when
You pretend to listen. Somewhere
At a dinner table politics poison the
Potatoes, somewhere down the
Street someone helps
With the dishes but does all
The work themselves. There is
Rushing and hemming
And hawing, but we all sit down
In a circle, and we laugh,
And somehow, it is good.
Somewhere someone lonely lies
Snoring in a chair and here,
Before the stars even open their eyes,
The blue-eyed woman goes
To bed hoping it will
Make her remember
10 minutes ago.
Thanksgiving III
Someday,
I will call it Thankful
When our eyes meet,
Even though I do not know you
And have never met you,
And perhaps will not even know
What you look like
For some time,
But when I find you,
I will call it Thankful,
And I hope you will
Find that in my eyes, too.