Wednesday, November 23, 2016

Words On Wednesday: Thanksgiving


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Thanks for the Italian chestnuts—with their 
tough shells—the smooth chocolaty 
skin of them—thanks for the boiling water—

itself a miracle and a mystery— 
thanks for the seasoned sauce pan 
and the old wooden spoon—and all

the neglected instruments in the drawer— 
the garlic crusher—the bent paring knife— 
the apple slicer that creates six

perfect wedges out of the crisp Haralson— 
thanks for the humming radio—thanks 
for the program on the radio

about the guy who was a cross-dresser— 
but his wife forgave him—and he 
ended up almost dying from leukemia—

(and you could tell his wife loved him 
entirely—it was in her deliberate voice)— 
thanks for the brined turkey—

the size of a big baby—thanks— 
for the departed head of the turkey— 
the present neck—the giblets

(whatever they are)—wrapped up as 
small gifts inside the cavern of the ribs— 
thanks—thanks—thanks—for the candles

lit on the table—the dried twigs— 
the autumn leaves in the blue Chinese vase—
thanks—for the faces—our faces—in this low light.

Photo by Dmitry Marochko

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