Thanksgiving has long been the poet’s favorite national holiday because, in midst of the celebrations, people really do remember ~ sometimes ~ to stop for a moment to feel gratitude for what they have.

This sonnet is one of a series of seven inspired by the season.

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Recorded Reading (1:02): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/qen8z3zm88nf1iugtonef/Thanksgiving-VI.mp3?rlkey=acixylpxzsk0o621xn93cdjra&dl=0

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Thanksgiving VI

My child, my daughter, my divine delight —
Of all my life the very dearest prize
Who daily fills my heart with love and light —
Is dying here before my anguished eyes

So pale and wasted she is, lying there
Her fragile jaw set firm against her pain
Brittle and wasted her glorious hair
I think I’ll never see her smile again

O parents — do your daughters misbehave
And fail, sometimes, to do as they are bid?
It only means they’re healthy, well and brave —
Oh, how I wish now that mine ever did!

Please pause, amid the squalor of the day,
And grateful be to let your children play

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This poet presently lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level.

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