By Christine Swanberg
Author and Poet
Our lives make up the fabric of gratitude. Every year, we have a feast in honor of gratitude. This poem celebrates that special day.
Since I have received positive feedback on this poem over the years, I like to publish it each year just before Thanksgiving. I hope you enjoy it.
Remember the air that made the clouds that made the rain
that watered the ground and made the potatoes
both white and sweet at your Thanksgiving table.
Remember the birds that gave the eggs that gave the meat
that baked in the oven and smelled divine
surrounded by sage dressing at your Thanksgiving table.
Remember the sun that fed the vines that made the wine
that went into long-stemmed glasses and shimmered
near the candles at your Thanksgiving table.
Remember the miners who culled the silver and the fire
that molded the precious metal that became a spoon
so perfectly set around your Thanksgiving table.
Remember the migrants who picked the lemons that you slice in water with ice, and who carried the pumpkins that whipped into the pie at your Thanksgiving table.
Remember the cows for all their kindnesses: the cream,
the milk, the cheese, and the chocolate that finished
the meal at your Thanksgiving table. Dare not forget:
All pilgrims who seek the higher life in strange
and wonderful places. All the invisible faces
of those gone on, the homeless, and the struggling,
our blue planet, that most special place in the universe,
where we the lucky thrive amidst rivers and orchards
where fruit hangs in perfect abundant globes.
Christine Swanberg is a local author and poet.
From the Nov. 24-30, 2010 issue