Thanksgiving. A poem.

Thanksgiving

when we sink beneath the cypress knees as transmogrifying sediment I will hear your purple voice call me buddy you will stretch your war-scarred arm through the tangled Louisiana roots you will grasp my hand in yours again we will sing a song to mamaw she longs to hear since beating us to her final repose with a good wife's respect crumbling in the cold I will still call you papaw your brassy notes settling my fear raging in this long-paused night I will let my eyelids fall this final day's goodbye to the last lawn and she will salute you sharply, sir, crumbling in the cold

Jeremy Allen Florida 1998, revised 2013

I study philosophy and social theory at the University of South Florida. I am also a photographer, map lover and sometimes poet.