Thanksgiving countdown.
Not like Christmas.
No official advent,
nor connecting isthmus
between our ordinary time
and the holiday with gatherings
to celebrate whatever blessings
on us shine.

But, would there, could there
be a way
that we could find
to make us ready
for that day,
beyond the decorations,
shopping, cooking,
and preparatory trepidations
about the ones we know we’ll see? . . .

Could we craft
a job or plea
to grow fresh hope
to open up
a brand new road
in our own
and family history?

This entry was posted in Holidays, Medium Length Poems, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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