Late Autumn, Early Winter
a Thanksgiving poem
Article voiceover
Of course, I'm thankful for all the continuing grief. It means that I haven't let Death the Magician, Death the Thief, steal the memory of the lovely, flawed, and departed Indians who shared previous Thanksgivings with me. So, today, I'll gather with ghosts. We'll share another feast and tell stories about this life— so wonderful and so brief.
In my haste this morning, I didn't listen to the full recording! There is a kitchen noise in there. I think the Thanksgiving preparation pans-banging noise works!
Beautiful!
Here’s something that occurred to me...
Somewhere I adopted this tradition
To just gather to say simply thanks
For just this chance at life
Existing on this spinning sphere
Just now just here
A chance at existence when so much is inert
Just to know I was here
And so were you
And we knew and saw and held and loved
So only when we don’t forget to see,
To feel, to understand how this
unlikeliest of unlikely likelihoods came to pass
somehow in the din and the confusion and sadness
Then this will have became enough
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