19 November 2017

Quiet November Sunday

Thanksgiving for Two
by Marjorie Saiser

The adults we call our children will not be arriving
with their children in tow for Thanksgiving.
We must make our feast ourselves,

slice our half-ham, indulge, fill our plates, 
potatoes and green beans,
carried to our table near the window.

We are the feast, plenty of years,
arguments.  I'm thinking the whole bundle of it
rolls out like a white tablecloth.  We wanted

to be good company for one another.
Little did we know that first picnic
how this would go.  Your hair was thick,

mine long and easy; we climbed a bluff
to look over our storybook plain.  We chose
our spot, as high as we could, to see

the river and the checkerboard fields.
What we didn't see was this day, in
our pajamas if we want to,

wrinkled hands strong, wine
in juice glasses, toasting 
whatever's next,

the decades of side-by-side,
our great good luck.


Araignee said...

That is so beautiful...and so spot on!

Nance said...

This is a poignant poem. I appreciate its realistic sentiment.

Bonny said...

This poem is so good, I had to search out more of Marjorie Saiser's writing. I love how she expresses some of my own thoughts and feelings so much better than I can myself. Thanks for the introduction to a wonderful poet.

Mereknits said...

Very touching.

AsKatKnits said...

This is so perfect. Thank you for sharing!

Kym said...

I LOVE this poem. Oh, thank you for sharing!!! XO

Vera said...