Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Thanksgiving

Every year we call it down upon ourselves,
the chaos of the day before the occasion,
the morning before the meal. Outdoors,
the men cut wood, fueling appetite
in the gray air, as Nana, Arlene, Mary,
Robinwhatever women we amount to
turn loose from their wrappers the raw,
unmade ingredients. A flour sack leaks,
potatoes wobble down counter tops
tracking dirt like kids, blue hubbard erupts
into shards and sticky pulp when it's whacked
with the big knife, cranberries leap away
rather than be halved. And the bird, poor
blue thingonly we see it in its dead skin
gives up for good the long, obscene neck, the gizzard,
the liver quivering in my hand, the heart.

So what? What of it? Besides the laughter,
I mean, or the steam that shades the windows
so that the youngest sons must come inside
to see how the smells look. Besides
the piled wood closing over the porch windows,
the pipes the men fill, the beers
they crack, waiting in front of the game.

Any deliberate leap into chaos, small or large,
with an intent to make order, matters. That's what.
A whole day has passed between the first apple
cored for pie, and the last glass polished
and set down. This is a feast we know how to make,
a Day of Feast, a day of thanksgiving
for all we have and all we are and whatever
we've learned to do with it: Dear God, we thank you
for your gifts in this kitchen, the fire, 
the food, the wine. That we are together here.
Bless the world that swirls outside these windows
a room full of gifts seeming raw and disordered,
a great room in which the stoves are cold,
the food scattered, the children locked forever 
outside dark windows. Dear God, grant
to the makers and keepers power to save it all. 

-- Linda McCarriston,

2 comments:

Katherine said...

The serendipity of discovering the right words just as one needs them. "Any deliberate leap into chaos, small or large,/With an intent to make order, matters. That's what." Love your choice of poetry, love your blog and wishing you all the best x

Michele Hush said...

This is lovely. Poetry and documentary in one. I feel like I've been there. Thank you.