Thanksgiving was always
nine miserable hours in the car
through the day and long into
the deep night
but then
waking up
alone
in a bed piled high
with clean quilts
behind a narrow door that locked
in a little room at the end
of the hall
where the air was warm
and never smelled of damp or rot
it smelled of turkey
which had been in the oven for hours already
and it smelled of forethought, which smells like love
and the sound of coffee percolating
marched purposefully down that hall
soft but persistent
a call to wake up, wake up
it's today
it's morning
and no one is drunk yet
and you are safe for now
and warm
wake up, enjoy it
while you can.
Well-written. And, shared sentiments, in my own way.
ReplyDeleteVera Kate! I am in awe of what you write. You say your posts are too short and don't say enough. I say they are extraordinary and express more than many words could.
ReplyDeleteYou are a rare, spirited, resilient, deep, worth-knowing, beautiful "old soul."
Boy, am I glad that (thanks to your bravery) I found you through that link on After Iris. I keep coming back and reading a little here and a little there as I have a moment alone.
You are something special.
I'm listening to your Dixie Chicks "Lullaby" and wondering if, anywhere in the world, there is a better song for a wedding.
I don't know what you do for a living, out in the so-called real world, but I hope that they appreciate your creativity. And let you WRITE.
Not speechless - but speechless still,
Cathy in Missouri
Goodness! I might need to print this comment and put it on my wall. You are a gem of a woman. Thank you so much. xoxo
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