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Poem

Before the sunrise
Of Thanksgiving morning in Michigan

I test out loud
At the kitchen table
A few of my poems to my golden retriever
Who sits and listens with his head cocked
Confused at my knee…

"Did he say the word…walk…yet?" Panting.

Well, after that hidden rehearsal
And a bloom outside of azure daylight
The house comes alive
With a parade of grandchildren feet
And a chorus of good mornings
Orange juice pourings.

So the dog and me we trot out back
Onto my deck that creaks
Beneath
Our boots and paws like frosted planks
On a wooden ship.

The backyard trees
Sway
As dancers of bone in the new cold,
Connected at the elbows
Careening on ankles
To the half-frozen forest ballroom floor.

Arrows of geese
Release
And pass by overhead
Honking their jalopy horns
Wings thudding against the gray sky
Like a broom beating a dusty carpet
Hung from a line.

The Earth has aged
Lost her color
Her luster
Turned to foggy breath of stone.

In that in-between of harvest’s final faint light
And the birth of Christ
A month from now
Like a seed
In the deepest darkest time
There remains this moment
To bow your head and Give Thanks
For mercy and life.

And only then
May Christmas and New Years
Come at our throats.

For now, it is Thanksgiving.

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