Maybe in their bones or late-night thoughts
the leaders wonder how it ends,
how it began, how one can answer
to and fro the dark.  Maybe

the wondering is very small,
a moment between this and that,
stopped in a window just above the sink.
Summer shivers.  Snowball disappears in snow.

Who is leader, really, who is led?
A wonderment, though no one lets another
know he doesn’t know.
Puffed chests and roasted turkeys

to grandmother’s house we go.
The motions are protected by a blanket
covering a blank.  The young are puzzled
as to why, or who to thank.

6 responses »

    • Hello John–How nice to find your comment this morning….this poem was written around the time of our American Thanksgiving holiday. As usual I must have been humming a song, most likely the Thanksgiving folk tune that begins “….over the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go…”and that may have keyed the sound here. I’m really glad you like it! 🙂

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