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 around 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.
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.
