The Gazeebo

A Poet's Place

The Gazeebo: Happy Thanksgiving and to All, A Good… Fiest

Hey all!

It’s been a little while since I’ve posted, but I’m back and I’ve got a poem to share.  It’s in relation to Thanksgiving… let’s see how many of you can catch on 🙂

Well, it’s Thanksgiving in America today so for those that celebrate it, Happy Thanksgiving… for all of you who don’t, then I hope you have a good day anyway 🙂

So, here’s the poem…

A Walk with the Pardoned

Let’s go down the road where rocks

lie loosely, my boots will brush the dust

into the air – the puff blowing away

from us and into the fields.  We’ll detour

into those fields, all filled with potatoes

ready to be dug up; their mouths will be

watering back home, knowing it’s only a matter

of… time to head to next door where

we’ll find the newborn sprouts of green beans.

They’ll be put into a pot tonight, but we shall

slosh through the cranberry fields as they’re

prepared and sent to market.  We shall go

to where you were born, to see your sons being

fed as the farmer raises them for next time.

It’s funny, he couldn’t find you last year; it

seems you ran away for a little while.  Was that

your crime?  I mean, you were pardoned, weren’t

you?  I really can’t see you having committed a crime,

except for maybe being too plump and ready –

well, you won’t ever be ready; not like your brothers…

it seems they’ve got about three hours left.  I keep

asking myself why I’m talking to you, or even

why I’m walking with you; what good is it to

me?  I mean, it’s not like I walked with that man

when he got pardoned; with what he did, I really

had no reason to – but she, she still went back…

and dressed in black at his funeral.  I wore white,

not that I did it or anything, I was just happy to see

him gone.  You, I’d be satisfied and famished if

someone took your life.  Just like I will be when

I’m feasting tonight.  But, as the stars come out,

she’ll be a thousand miles away, and I’ll be closing

my eyes beside an empty pillow.  I can tell it’s close

now – your brothers are beginning to smell like they’re

done; the potatoes will be mashed, the green beans mixed

into my mother’s famous casserole, the cranberry

sauce sitting on a plate, ready to serve.

© Jesse McDowell Lungren


November 24, 2011 - Posted by | Your Lungren Originals | , , , , , , ,

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