White chairs around a long table
sat in every Thanksgiving
shared like childhood was.
Talk about tossing around old
ways and habits like balls
caught and dropped.
Walls of shelves populated by
books I wish someone had read
besides me, I am cool.
My wife and I stack up art
to replace what’s been on the walls
for a while raising eyebrows.
We built a house within and beyond
rooms filled with acceptibility
and kids yelling, ‘Look at me.’
It’s that time of the year to shop
the world stuffed with product
After half a dozen decades of pilgrimage
and wrinkled questions, how could
the young not be young?