Thanksgiving

 

I picture you happy

and at the shore.

Just a short walk

from the once fashionable resort

you may remember visiting

years and years ago.

It is off-season and

the corduroy jacket

you have worn forever

is not quite warm enough.

You hug it to you

with reddened hands–

a poor replacement

for the large brown buttons

you have never found

in all those years

of thrift store meanderings.

 

The storm that cat- whorled through,

as if confirming the season’s demise,

has left the beach and small pier

you stand above in artless disarray.

A sailboat has been lifted from its mooring

and left upon the beach,

like the plaything of a distracted child.

The waves will take some hours

to quiet and the air retains

the faint taste of ozone,

that brings a sharpness to your senses.

The red in the distant, cloud-free sky

promises a particularly fine morning.

It will break both clean and crisp.

 

I picture you happy.

I picture you

easy in anticipation.

The old coat slips

open, exposing

a lining matted

and yellowed with age.

Once again you glance

at your watch,

as if surprised to find it on your wrist.

A fine watch

of timeless design–

a gift perhaps from someone

who knew you

when such things mattered.

 

I picture your smile.

A fine smile—

a gift to those

who, over time, have cared for you.

Do you remember when that friend–

the one you have not quite forgotten,

said you smiled through your eyes?

 

I picture some good thing

coming this way for you.

Soon. Indeed,

in my picture,

it has already set out.