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Thanksgiving

23 years old,
Old enough to drink wine,
Old enough to drive a car,
Yet still, she sits at the kids' table,

She decides to get away,
Stay away from the politics and the war,
The cursing and the football,
All the horrible things that the “adults” talk about,

She sits in the bright yellow chair,
The ladybug table pressing up against her abdomen,
Grubby faces with bright eyes all around her,

She giggles and speaks of clouds and birds,
As she stares into their eyes,
They penetrate into her soul,
A bright light appears in her sight,

She is blinded,
A warmth travels down to an empty place in her chest,
This place fills up with this heat,

The place where the giggles and the laughter used to be,
 The place where the nonsense known as love used to be,
The place where her heart once was,

Over the years she’s heard,
Heard of the horrible things in the world,
The wars, the deaths,
The loves and the divorce,

She closes her eyes,
When she opens them she’s 10 again,
She decides to stay,
So she spends the next 13 years at the kid's table.


Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 11/19/2018 10:44:00 PM
I would sit at such a fine table too. -Richard
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Date: 11/13/2018 7:39:00 PM
Welcome to PoetrySoup, Flora. This may mean hardly anything to you, as you are new, but I loved this poem, and so it went straight to my FAV list, and I am following you now. If you want to know what I think, I believe this is a free verse poem, which is what I do most often.
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