Poets' Corner: Thanksgiving, A Choice
In this Thanksgiving poem by our not-regular-enough contributor David Feela, a hawk could be a meta for us post-Thanksgiving and into the holiday season. If, that is, the day after, we see ourselves sitting high on the pole, fully satisfied and deeply grateful. If, as Michelle Obama suggested in a recent talk, we have chosen to digest only what we can control. Otherwise the choice is to be slumped over in a tryptophan haze, bowed by excess and our drunken uncle’s insistence America will be great again. If we choose to persist, in our anxiety and frustration, in tweeting the nasty stuff, we will be the barn, crushed by traffic – though, in the end, the barn does survive.
The Shadow the Barn Casts
Early sun makes my barn
grow larger, its shadow stretching
out to the road where traffic
on its way to work
crashes into one side and then
out the other. The chickens squawk
with all the commotion,
dust and feathers rising like a storm
against the horizon.
In an hour my barn shrinks
back into the yard
like the shadow of a hawk
having lit on a power pole,
its appetite sated,
the whole day
devoted to digestion.
Note: David’s poem was previously published by Ruminate.
Latest posts by David Feela (see all)
- Poets’ Corner: Feela on Star Power, Xmas Star & Beyond - December 21, 2017
- Poets’ Corner: Thanksgiving, A Choice - November 24, 2017
- Poets’ Corner: Feela on Labor Day, One Last Hurrah - September 2, 2017
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