Again, Thanksgiving

Again today, I reconvene
With past iterations of this one meal
And past iterations of this one Me.
And I, again, in the gentle familiar
Wake to voices in the kitchen
The folk melodies I grew up knowing
And I enter, again, Last One Up
And eat cooled breakfast, blushing
Because the chuckled surprise of “She’s awake!”
Sounds just the same.

And grandmother searches my face
From across a windowed room
In curious skepticism
Of a girl with blond hair
Caressing her coffee
Who are you, then?

I am the accumulation
Of every page of my diary
Layer laid upon layer
Word upon word
Conversations across pillows
Shouting across tables.

And in the eyes of those who’ve known me
I shade my eyes from growing up
And instead tiptoe to the blue
That kisses the rugged soles
Of shivering sandy feet
And washes away, once more
That which I’ve picked up
That which I’ve carried
That which I’ve treasured

And I throw back my hair,
And charge back up the hill
With dimpled nose and wild smile
To the ember-lit faces
That taught me how
To be thankful.
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