Brain!
Hard to believe
you really want
this poem from me
on Thanksgiving eve,
right when I’m cooking
many small things
and worrying about
many large things, as if
there was time for this
now. This may be
the last one for who knows
how long — who knows
what there will be
to be thankful for
this time next year.
I suppose having leisure to
sit back and do this
while many small things
cook is a good thing.
I suppose having food
is a good thing.
I suppose this word
“Thanksgiving”
with all its baggage
is a good thing.
I suppose family and survival,
things taken too often
for granted,
are good things.
I suppose
there should be gratitude
for being pulled to do
and being allowed to do
what I was built to do
in spite of everything
that needs to be done — and
everything
needs to be done —
even, I suppose,
this —
so Brain,
though I can scarcely believe it,
there is time, and food,
and this small moment of time
in which to breathe freely —
let us bend to it,
giving thanks as we do.
