Day 23: Ghazal for Gobblers

Thanksgivings


My father, too, knew dooms of love.
When I squint my eyes, I can nearly see him shining here.

The snow will show its ghostly roots.
Winter birds assault the cold with griefs of joy.

It’s the coming home that twilight would rejoice.
But it’s never safe to live only for my father’s dream.

The table’s spreading seems to suggest the world’s as right as rain.
It’s community is more than enough to fill the spirit against the dark.

As children we hope to wake into a world of snow.
As adults at best concede to be as sure of spring.

I am not one born or raised to doubt a mind.
Or scoff myself the subtleties of old, dumb death.

There are things, my friend, we’ll never know, least as truth.
And, William, that uncertainty’s the whole, and more than all.



Source 1
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Day 3: Woeful Wednesday

Here, KS

A colleague of mine's brother-in-law lives there,
all wrapped up in soft-spoken age & false teeth
letting slide the subtlest lies through a radio fourthwall.

Believable lies, willingly suspended, make his brand
of honesty so compelling. I believe in Irma,& Ted,
& even Jillian as much as any Chuck, Dave or Maryette.

But the state I live in is not all dotted with resolve, or
picked ripe as September's last acorn squash. Whatever
do they do with all those leftover pumpkins, anyhow?

See, here in our corner of a mislead & unheard populace,
we don't worry much about American exceptionality,
& sure as shit don't talk about settling our entitlements.

We just want to bring our children up to know the difference
between right & wrong is not often debated about on television.