In this poem, Marc Frazier reminds us how the holidays often invite complicated thoughts about family.
Thanksgiving with the Homeless Men of Starbucks
There are ways
to be lost worse than this one. —Carl Phillips
They show some kind of panty hose to one another.
Tricks of the trade to stay warm.
How emasculating, my small self thinks.
Of course my judgment is harsh.
My father worked two, sometimes three,
jobs to support a growing family: 2, 3, 4, 5 kids.
Does the world change this much? This soon?
After her death the family fractured like a bad tooth.
Where do we gather now?
What’s on my mind is not this poem.
In my dream I write:
There once was a beautiful lady.
Endless stories begin
like this and lose their way.
Endless shutters close on the past.
In my dream time stops
in all the right places, all the right
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Photo by Nathan Rupert/Flickr