24 November 2018


how all three of us are in that very first photograph: one in my arms plus one behind the camera makes two making a home out of me. how we woke to the thrum of drums and bundled in our woolies and walked to the parade. ten months old on thanksgiving eve: last year's carried-prayer become this year's held-dream. moving about the kitchen: stirring, chopping, checking the recipe. moving about the apartment: cedar and fir, wool slippers on hardwood, kisses for boy and babe. sufjan songs, glowy candles, fog kissing the windowpanes, fallen leaves collected on autumn walks. on the table: rosemary turkey, trimmings and red wine, her sweet potatoes. perfect. papa in forest green, mama in lace, baby in a ruffled collar, thanksgiving best, best thanksgiving. heaven. here. bundling once more to tote a pie across the neighborhood. voices of friends raised in happy song: take me home country roads and sweet caroline. joy, untouchable. how we were here, how we were together, how that is everything, how that is all. every song, every heartbeat, every prayer of every dawn-break and every first-star is the same: thank you and thank you and thank you. 

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