Remember Your Thank You

It's waiting for Snoopy
to float down the street
or watching him deal plates
out like cards
making up name cards
with feathers and buckles
carefully penned in brown

It's hearing the tenor
of Scarborough Faire
watching my father
do his Thanksgiving dance
with the smells
of parsley,
of sage,
of rosemary,
of thyme.
as cranberries and orange peels
fall apart in the grinder
golden marshmallows melt
into cinnamon
and nutmeg

It's being too full
of turkey and family
and dealing the final cards
shrugging off questions
from Lake Wobegon
while flurries swirl outside

1 comment:

vickyb said...

Thank you...
For a lovely poem. :)