Thanksgiving
by Linda McCarriston
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,
Robin—whatever 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 thing—only 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.
“Thanksgiving” by Linda McCarriston, from Talking Soft Dutch. Texas Tech Press © 1984.
thanksgiving
28 Nov 2019 Leave a comment
in Poetry, Thanksgiving Tags: a Day of Feast, beers the men crack, chaos of the day, cut wood, fueling appetite, leap into chaos, Linda McCarriston, liver quivering, make order, morning before the meal, poor blue thing, potatoes wobble, raw, steam, Thanksgiving, unmade ingredients, whacked
Pattern #46 Go home Have Babies (Every Mustang’s Dream)
10 Oct 2013 2 Comments
in Family Tags: calvary, discerned, DVD, fast, finish, foes, guarded, herd, raw, spirit, stallion, wild mustang
Spirit was a mustang
Wild and fast his flight;
Galloped ’til a stallion
Led the herd each night.
Wild and fast his flight;
“Til Calvary made him fight
For freedom and his rights.
Galloped ’til a stallion
Rode his muscles raw;
Heaved his breath: neighed his jaw.
Led the herd each night;
Guarded them from foes
As every mustang knows.
I showed my 4 year old grand daughter the DVD of “Spirit”.
At the finish, she asked:”Can they go home now and have babies?”
She discerned what mattered, even for a horse.
How I Feel Today
18 Aug 2012 2 Comments
in Uncategorized Tags: bitter, gassy, raw, sour, surly
I feel gassy brassy
loose-y dousse-y
plucked and pressed
‘n raw “n juicy!
iPhone woke me
way too early:
grouchy face
is frowning surly!
Surely, sour
slides to bitter;
biting at the bit
am I!
Grrrrrrrr!