Was the past invited to your Thanksgiving table?
Did you toast your dead?
Where did you sow and how did you reap?
Were you rich in love, poor of spirit, lonely in the crowd?
Who embraced you? Who sang your song?
Who bore witness to your valiant, failed efforts?
Who silently raised their glass, with a nod your way?
Could imagination move beyond dishes and mayhem
To see the field of dreams laid upon silver and damask?
Was celebration in whole time, or eternal time,
Where you heard faint beginning notes born of endings?
What sacred stepping stones, cobbled from leftovers,
Carry you onward?