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             Poems: Thanksgiving 


Sun's in my eyes this morning.

Winter coat clutches

as I steer toward work,

a building full of children

already bundled in borrowed cares.


there's still time to talk

about gratitude, or the lack of it,

a lesson easier learned at eight

than later.

Red light.

I stop, loosen my scarf,

shade my eyes to enjoy a peek of blue,

open a button or two,

watch people waddle in their winter gear.

On the car in front of me, a bumper sticker advises:

"Let go. Let God."

I imagine: rise, light with laughter toward the sun,

wrestle one last time with angels before

a platinum deluge wakes my slumbering self.


inside all kinds of rooms

families will gather to weave

or unravel their stories.

The wind blows regardless.

Thirty-five children with eager hearts

wait to learn; what can I teach them?

In the end, I listen:

their voices, the rustling of wings.

Who can say where faith begins?

Arlene Gay Levine

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