Thanksgiving

Tiny and warm,
your cabin hugged us all:
your folks,
your brothers,
sister and all the kids—
and outside
we were surrounded
by velvet green meadows
which gave way
to a wall of trees glistening
with their last yellow hope
just as the light
invited the four of us
to walk into the landscape—
and my husband and I
thought you and your wife
were as happy
as we were that day,
and maybe you were
in that lovely afternoon
with our bellies full
and pumpkin pie
waiting to be sliced.
Only now is it clear
that deconstruction
doesn’t always  take its time—
beauty can peak
like the autumn leaves
and then disappear
into a wasteland
of colorless cold.
Everything you owned
was divided, sold—
the tiny warm cabin
no longer part of our holidays—
and those of us
whose marriages
hadn’t failed as completely
as yours
gave thanks the following year
when we learned
that you had stumbled
upon it again – Love –
and we took another walk
into a different landscape,
the four of us—
changed, ordinary—
still so much beauty
clinging like leaves
before the fall.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
11-19-14

2 thoughts on “Thanksgiving”

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