by Susanne Smith » Fri Nov 29, 2013 11:40 am
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Feasting
All the plump oysters in heavy cream
drowning in butter slid down just fine.
And I suckled at the breast and gravy
like a whining baby starved at two am.
The kids ate Mac and Vegan cheese,
poor kids, and bourbon nary hit my lips,
so I stayed put and didn't roam the streets
for scruffy pilgrims that drank the feast.
Give thanks for pumpkin, durable and full
of winter, three eggs and hints of ginger,
golden tapped syrup from swollen maples,
a little bit of condensed sweet milk, that
can of bliss, and all in all the wild rice
sang some hint of Native songs, our dark
hair shined with it, the potatoes whipped
so simple, salt and butter, cream of course.
Cranberries, oh cranberries, broke their skin
and bled into the gravy, giblets and all.
Hog wild sausage and stale bread, plain
old celery and the trinity of onions stood
their ground, and all the plates groaned,
and all the lovely children groaned when
blessings nodded out around the coach.
Serve the earth, serve our fellows, pass
the dish of thanks for a feast of family.
That rare old feeling of when they smiled
and danced, and thought the world was
everything we told them it could be
william smith