Poor Forgotten Thanksgiving

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.