The bountiful beginning rests on me,

My oak legs, the harvest scent,

Squanto’s corn, the cooking deer and fowl

The Pilgrim’s thanks, all these merge.

 

I see the future and its tables,

Some different, some the same.

 

When this day comes again,

One table--pampered in extravagance.

The finest tablecloth, wood shined like a diamond.

Yet honorable beginnings seem lost.

Lost in an ocean of beer cans and pizza boxes,

Lost by rowdy visitors

Who talk about the rivalry game,

Who talk about the TV parade,

Who talk about tonight’s sale.

 

Another in a more modest abode.

Held together by tape, glue, and hope.

Held together by a family who honors this day.

Humble savings jar emptied for this day—

Farmer’s market vegetables, department store turkey, gas station tea.

They truly give thanks—

A roof overhead,

A plate of food,

A united family.

Reminding me of how they still remember—

Reminding me of how it is still honored.