Tradition transcends history;
genocidal feasts
have become something lovely.
But what right do we have to ignore our roots,
while we give thanks for life?
Ritual:
turkey
and cranberry sauce,
cheers,
and cold November air.
My many-times great grandfather came over on the Mayflower
And my other grandfathers were proud of their ancestry.
The turkey doesn’t sit quite right.
But it’s bathed in candlelight.
Incandescence:
history rooted in a rhythm
that carries the piercing notes
as well as the soft ones.
I am ashamed,
but I’ll give thanks anyway.
genocidal feasts
have become something lovely.
But what right do we have to ignore our roots,
while we give thanks for life?
Ritual:
turkey
and cranberry sauce,
cheers,
and cold November air.
My many-times great grandfather came over on the Mayflower
And my other grandfathers were proud of their ancestry.
The turkey doesn’t sit quite right.
But it’s bathed in candlelight.
Incandescence:
history rooted in a rhythm
that carries the piercing notes
as well as the soft ones.
I am ashamed,
but I’ll give thanks anyway.
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