Oddly the Gratitude Takes Me Over
It’s Thanksgiving, early afternoon, thus far spent
by myself (and that will be the day, I’m sure).
Would you find it morbid that, rereading poems I
wrote about my father’s death and the family
correspondences to the funeral made me feel warm
inside, tickled me, made me feel grateful to have
experienced it, a rare set of sublime moments with
blood relatives? Clips on the internet led me to turn
on Jim Gaffigan’s new comedy special. I had it going
while I tried to dry out the pond in the middle of my
apartment made from defrosting my refrigerator. Doing
my buckets of laundry, cleaning up, heading out in a few
before the darkness takes over, feeling awake (a rarity
these days) and happy (also a rarity). Anticipating. Ready.
