Thanksgiving
live life
like all the kingdom’s come,
our chariots of fire
dripping with gravy
for gone are the religions of old
in which we would
sacrifice our own
to the gods
who would eat them –
with a fork
Christmas
unlike our bellies,
the center of the pumpkin pies
didn’t jiggle so much
when pulled from the oven
but like our minds
the light
was cast in delicate,
albeit dim
reflection
a joke?
no,
but a season –
yes
to celebrate
not only the child
in the hay
but our own
incarnation
in form
New Years
she’d been finding dimes
one, two, three, four,
on the sidewalk,
in a shoe,
pressed into
her own hand
I think he wanted to be sure
she had heard the news
that you don’t have to die
to be reborn
though he’d taken that route
carrying a torch
the whole way
now with burdens relieved
he could lift that flame
much higher
perhaps so that
his daughter could soar
bearing only the weight
of her own wings
Unraveled and the Birth of Joy 