The disquieting news
Hurries in before the sun sets.
On this thanksgiving day
Of the pilgrims that we are,
We trade writhings in red,
Some kind of a free choice
To cut away the pain of losing
The good old memories of kith
And kin in the homeland.
It is easy to say the words of sympathy
Now that you have opened up
The floodgates of that gnawing grief,
That one that draws you to darkness
That one that draws you to light
And that ability to come away
From this experience
Of cataloguing one by one
This singing in silence
This whistling in the deep night
Even as we count the dead.
After the holiday
The turkey will not come to roost.
The harvest will be bountiful
Next year, the feast
For the famished.
You can come up with
A lively list: Darfur, Manila,
Fallouja, the ancient cities
Of culture and commerce,
Those dying their own death.
Aurelio S. Agcaoili
Artesia, CA
Nov. 23, 2004
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