2020: Not Her Last Thanksgiving

She doesn’t remember her first Thanksgiving,

as I said at the time that she wouldn’t.

And with just seven months of her synapses formed,

you’d be right to point out that she couldn’t.

But that was way back in two-thousand-and-three,

when she’d not yet begun solid foods.

Now she’s a teenager, willful and tall,

and possessed of a full range of moods.

Seventeen times my wife and myself

have sat to this table as parents.

We’ve relished them all—first as three, then as four,

but this year some reflectiveness warrants.

Though before I go on and indulge any more

of my penchant to be sentimental,

I know you’re surprised, perhaps even stumped,

that I’ve chosen a theme so… parental.

2020 it seems, not the year of our dreams,

with its infinite bumps in the road;

I thought turning 50 could be kind of nifty…

But since then my excitement has slowed.

The virus, the lockdown, the un-flattened curve,

all the months spent inside of our houses;

with its racist refrains, wildfires, hurricanes—

how this year our emotion arouses.

And we’ll always remember the start of November

as we hoped our mailed ballots would show

that the system would hold up and Donald would fold up

his White House tent circus and go.

But those are just things, things we mustn’t let dwell

in our heads on this festive occasion.

Thanksgiving is here, the best time of the year,

set aside all the noise and contagion.

Which brings me back round to the place where I started

and a beautiful, capable girl.

I admit that I feel just a touch heavy-hearted

as she makes her way into the world.

It’s true that the knowledge they teach you in college

is valuable, lasting, and dear.

And if by September things aren’t close to normal,

it could be the perfect gap year!

No, she’ll never be far, and she’ll always be able

to jump on a plane or a bus

and quickly resume her old place at the table

for a meal and a game here with us.

Wherever you go, dear daughter of ours,

may you find a rich life full of living.

And never forget all the magical powers

of a table that’s set for Thanksgiving.

In twenty-oh-three, you heard it from me

as into this world you were shoved:

It’ll always be true, but I’ll still remind you

just how much and how deeply you’re loved.

Now let’s raise up our thoughts to the dead and the living

as I wind up my yearly insistence;

we’re six feet apart, but we’re close in our hearts

as we reach out and close up the distance.