A cornucopia, all for me,
how thankful is the blind man
to the fruits of his fair nothing—
the greenery, grown, beneath the
through the sky, the day
the men in their wide-brimmed hats
forgot the sea, learned the barrel
no one ever looks the same
behind the sights.
A turkey stuffed
with all the hands, the hammers,
unsung ringings in the deep
lightly smelling of the smoke,
the factories that brimmed with weary souls,
to bring the table to the meal,
to bring the car that brought the people—
smoking still the stilling rifle,
that bought and held and earned
the right to live, to dine,
the right to never know the pain
in a crowded horn, this overflowing
but the end, not the means.
No oven fire burns so hot
could give the soul,
we dine upon tonight.
Happy Thanksgiving week, everyone! This here’s my latest submission to the wonderful One Stop Poetry’s One Shot Wednesday.
Does today’s poem look familiar to some of you? Well that’s because you might have seen it hosted on One Stop Poetry on Monday. It’s my holiday dedication piece, and as I will be AWOL over the next few days enjoying the holiday spirits, I thought it only right that this should be the piece I leave you with for the days to come. I hope all my fellow Americans out there enjoy the holiday, and this time with your family. And for those of you from the international community – check out my post on One Stop Poetry from Monday to learn a little about this national holiday, and find some art and poetics to boot.