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 the last in a series of seven inspired by the season.

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Recorded Reading (1:06): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/71n5681zream2kipsq133/Thanksgiving-VII.mp3?rlkey=ysnjetrif9nfmat8dsaey3yhl&dl=0

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Thanksgiving VII

The moment that I first that doctor see
After the test the lab’ratory gave,
I knew that she had no good news for me
And steeled myself inwardly to be brave…

Why did I not, before this fateful day,
Perceive what miracles make all this life? —
Sounds of my children in innocent play,
Loving attentions of my noble wife,

A wholesome occupation living for,
Fond recreation in a cozy nest —
Why was I longing greater riches for
When I already had the very best?

It piquancy to all existence give
When one hath only six months left to live

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

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