A Time of Thanksgiving (Poem)

A Time of Thanksgiving

The trees have removed their branches' bracelets;
          that clanging of falling leaves has ceased.
Cold has swept in on nature's stiffest brush,
          preparing us for the harder ground to come.

          In such days grown short in time's own hands,
we lack for light beyond our cut-short shadows,
          listen for this year's presidential proclamation,
in gratefulness await the pardoning of yet another

          turkey. Soon enough we'll gather round our tables,
grip hands in prayer perfected for the holiday,
          pass our plates forward in answer to the question,
light or dark?

          Pumpkin pie will satisfy the traditionalist (there's
always one), and someone later call for coffee, bored
          caffeinated children coralling the cat in the corridor
as mother and daughters retreat to the kitchen, their men cheering

          or berating the fast or fatal final move down left field.
Once the last drop of Pinot Noir is washed down, the glasses dried,
          the chatter will turn to Black Friday specials and old debates
about buying local. No one can wait for the Christmas sales.
  
© 2017 Maureen E. Doallas
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Please enjoy once again these poems of Thanksgiving:

"Tradition" (November 28, 2013)

"Called to Thanksgiving" (November 22, 2012)

"We're used to giving" (Escape Into Life, November 23, 2011)

Also:

"November, and the pollen" (November 12, 2013)

And this, because as I wrote then, "Thanksgiving does not exist only on a November day. . .":

"Uncommon Community" (November 16, 2009)