After the leftovers have been spooned
into storage containers and the forks
are all snuggled back in their drawers,
when the few who are left are sprawled
on the couch or curled on the floor,
and we’re sleepy-eyed and sated
and telling stories and laughing
at ourselves, this is my favorite part
of the day, when all of the fixing is done
and we settle in with questions we know
we will never answer, and instead
of solutions we are left holding
nothing but ache and love for the world
and for each other, and somehow
instead of despair, this utter lack
of resolution serves up such
gladness—we’re here to meet
what is hard together.
Posts Tagged ‘thanksgiving’
After
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged family, feast, love, questions, thanksgiving on November 27, 2025| 6 Comments »
One on Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged paradox, prayer, thanksgiving on November 29, 2024| 13 Comments »
one hand opens in grief
the other in gratitude
pressing them together to pray
A Partial List of Gratefulnesses
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness, thanksgiving on November 27, 2024| 2 Comments »
There’s the giddy gratefulness that sparkles
like morning sun on the river and the peaceful
gratefulness that soothes like warm wind.
There’s the gratefulness that almost hurts
as it squeezes tight around the heart,
the gratefulness that arrives quiet as cat’s paws
in the night, and the gratefulness that thrums
and swirls in us as if we’re a sky full of starlings.
Sometimes it opens as slowly
as a giant bromeliad in Bolivia, taking years,
even decades before we are ready to see it.
Sometimes it comes dressed in black.
There’s begrudging gratefulness, bedazzling
gratefulness, gratefulness that stands
on its hind legs and roars. Gratefulness
that soars like a tetherless kite. Gratefulness
that sneaks in mouselike—like an ermine
who knows just where to find the small gaps
in the rocks. Every gratefulness a chance
to glimpse what is sacred right here,
to remember our place in the living world.
Every gratefulness the chance to revel again
in the sheer miracle that we belong.
It’s Like This
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratefulness, science, thank you, thanks, thanksgiving on November 23, 2023| 4 Comments »
“The odds of you being alive are basically zero.”
—Dina Spector reporting the work of Dr. Ali Binazir, Business Insider, June 11, 2012
It’s like this. The sun itself
is constantly moving through space,
and yet it never leaves us.
Add this to the list of marvels—
like how a glass of water
was once a cloud,
like how love can grow in us
despite sorrow, fear.
Given such gifts,
one must wonder how it is
our arms aren’t constantly raised
in spontaneous praise for life.
I know and you know
why sometimes our hands stay down.
But now, standing still together,
even as we’re spinning
and racing through space,
even if it’s only a whisper,
when faced with the truth
that great forces hold
our lives in place,
it feels right to say
thank you, thank you,
eyes lifting, heart trembling,
the improbable earth
so solid beneath our feet.
Family Recipe
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dad, recipe, san francisco, secret, thanksgiving on November 25, 2022| 7 Comments »
All day, I search for it,
the secret ingredient—
something my father
believed in. He always
made stuffing
with something extra,
something special,
then made us guess
what the secret was.
All day, I notice
what goes into a day—
a total of 86,400 seconds,
and in every second
a choice of how
we will meet that second.
If the day is stuffing,
then this day has
some unusual ingredients:
a couple dozen folks
in swimsuits on the sidewalk,
one woman with a dying parrot
she has tucked in her sweater,
a whole garden full of lemon trees,
one ripe hour alone
in the sunshine on a rooftop,
a generous measure of laughter
as my daughter and husband and I
climb a near-vertical hill,
and bittersweet tears
as I think of Dad
and his love of secret ingredients.
All day, the world
shows off its flavors.
All day, I revel in the recipe,
this extraordinary day,
something that can never
be made the same way again.
Thanks
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged palace of fine arts, san francisco, thank you, thanksgiving on November 23, 2022| 14 Comments »
Inside each honest thank you
is a giant open-air pavilion
beside a curving and generous pond
that reflects the sky and is home
to cormorants, white egrets,
turtles, and humble ducks.
There is laughter that rings
through the archways,
wonder that wanders the paths.
There are angels that circle
each thank you spoken with love,
whether we believe in angels or not.
Every sincere expression of thanks
is a choice to meet what is good in the world
and to honor it with our attention.
There are thousands and thousands
of reasons to forget we are grateful,
and yet just one genuine thank you
builds an improbable palace
out of the moment, fills it with beauty,
shares it with the world, asks nothing in return.
Inviting Obama for Dinner
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged dinner, kids, manners, mothering, obama, thanksgiving on November 28, 2020| 2 Comments »
I no longer remember much of etiquette
from reading White Gloves and Party Manners,
so when Obama doesn’t come to our house
for Thanksgiving dinner, I needn’t worry
that I’ve forgotten how to address a former president
in an informal setting. I do, however, remind my kids
that if Obama were sitting with us,
they would want to remember to put their napkins
in their laps. They do.
And you probably don’t want to lick the serving spoon,
I add, as it goes from the cranberry sauce
into an eager mouth. And we don’t talk about farting.
The whole time Obama isn’t eating mashed potatoes with us,
we wonder what he is eating with his family
and what they are talking about,
and if he might not just accept an invitation
to our home for dinner. If he did,
we agree we would refrain from using the knife
with the butter dish to butter our own bread.
And, uncertain how to address him,
we’d just ask him personally how he’d like be called.
I’d like to believe that Obama might actually show up.
He’d knock at the door in his elegant and humble way,
no fanfare, holding a side dish of roasted brussels sprouts,
and we’d listen as he told us what he’s up to these days.
As it is, it’s kinda fun when he doesn’t show up
and we act like ourselves. I eat my green beans
with my fingers—they taste better that way.
My daughter plays with the candlewax.
Sometimes, I lick my plate.
At Some Point It’s Clear
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, mistake, sweetness, thanksgiving on November 26, 2020| 6 Comments »
So little of life’s sweetness
can be planned. Oh, meals,
of course, and sometimes
children. But mostly, joy
loves a surprise, loves
when schedules get shuffled
and agendas unravel and
suddenly there’s a space
for bliss to slip in dressed
in calamity’s clothes.
So easy to praise what
looks like success—
but teach me to give thanks
for the mess—
whatever is burnt, broken,
wounded, fumbled, missed.
Teach me to be open in each
unscripted moment
to the bloom of gratefulness.
Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, thanksgiving, walking on November 28, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Perhaps that is when Thanksgiving
matters most—when you
walk the empty street alone,
scarred and scared and unsure.
That’s when giving thanks
becomes less of an abstract and more
like the way to take a next breath—
something that seems elusive, but
in fact it’s essential, and it’s right there,
just waiting for you to meet it,
to open yourself, to let it in.
Yes, for now it feels worthy of thanks
that the air is cool and clean and feels
good in the lungs, and the feet know
to walk you closer toward yourself
and the day holds you, holds you
in its soft gray arms, throws
a carpet of dry leaves at your feet,
suggests you keep walking into your life.
The Night Before Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged brother, memory, poem, poetry, self image, sister, thanksgiving on November 27, 2019| 2 Comments »
Forty years later, my brother and I
go to the Jewel to buy evaporated milk
and egg nog, and part of me doubts
I will remember the way that we scoured
the produce aisle for green beans. Then again,
who could say why I remember
with incredible clarity the moments
when I was ten and we had just finished
the great turkey feast and my brother and I,
as we loved to do, asked to be excused,
but instead of leaving the dining room,
we simply lay on the floor beneath the table
with our feet up on our chairs
and conversed with each other
there across the green and white shag.
I don’t recall what we said or what we wore,
and it was no important moment, but
I remember the feel of it:
I knew we were together in this—
this moment, this family, this life,
so much so that forty years later
the memory of these ten minutes
is as real to me as the scent of the pumpkin pie
my sister-in-law baked tonight.
How is it that such a short snippet of time
defines us? How it comes to be
the moment we return to again and again
to remind ourselves who we are,
who we love, and why we are here—
those moments, stolen, and still
they give us back ourselves. Even now
in the produce aisle of Jewel, I can feel it—
the carpet against my cheek, can smell
the cranberry salad, can hear my grandfather
and grandmother laughing over our heads,
my brother’s eyes widening, mischievous, so alive.
One Late November
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 26, 2019| 2 Comments »
Making Apple Pies with my Mother
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged apple, apple pie, cooking, daughter, fanny farmer, mother, poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 23, 2018| 2 Comments »
We begin by talking for an hour
about the kids, her church, dad’s health,
and how we both cry when we see acts of goodness.
We clean the kitchen. Address one mess
before starting the next. Then we peel apples,
marvel at their size—how much larger
they must be than in the time of Fanny Farmer,
who thinks we might need eight tart apples
for our nine-inch crust. Fanny, even a hundred years later,
you are still synonymous with precision,
organization and good food. And, as I recall,
you, too, practiced your art in your mother’s kitchen.
As it is, seven apples in 2018 are enough
to fill two generous crusts. Oh Fanny,
some things have changed, for instance
this Granny Smith, large as my fist. But some things
are exactly the same. A level teaspoon
is still a level teaspoon. The simplest recipes
are still often the best. And it’s still so good
to make a pie with your mother, talking
about all of life’s loose ends, measuring sugar,
filling the crusts, then cleaning up the mess
as the scent of sweetness touches everything.
Practice
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, practice, thanksgiving on November 22, 2018| 2 Comments »
To be grateful not only for flower,
but also for mud, grime,
slug, slime, the dingy,
the filthy, the tired,
to be grateful not only for star
but also for what is prickly, thornsome,
tricky, testy, sore,
to be grateful not only for warmth
but also for the cold that holds it,
the chill, the bite, the nip, the freeze,
the breeze that blows always head on.
To not only say thanks, but live it.
To not only know thanks, but give it.
One Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged family, missing, poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 25, 2017| 2 Comments »
Grace
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged grace, love, poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 26, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Though the world is dented and dinged
and scuffed and scorned,
we trim the beans and peel the potatoes,
and the kitchen is warm and full
of laughter. We hum as we work
and break into scraps of song.
All day our hands are joyful
as they prepare the meal to come.
There are wars and battles even now,
not all of them fought with guns,
some waged intimately in our thoughts,
our scraped up hearts. And still,
this scent of apple pie, sweetening
as it bakes, this inner insistence
that love is not only possible,
it is every bit as real as our fear.
Whether the host has brought
out his best wine and his best crystal glasses
or water in chipped clay cups,
there is every reason
to be generous, to serve not only
our family, our friends, ourselves,
but also those we don’t yet know how to love
and those parts of ourselves we
have tried to keep separate.
Tonight the host has hidden bait
in the dinner—we all are caught.
Scent of sage, scent of mushrooms
and cream. The bite of cranberry.
Never mind the potatoes cooked too long.
Blessings seep into all the imperfect places,
even if you can’t name the blessings—
consider them secret ingredients.
The point is not to understand the feast,
but to eat, to eat it together.
In the Spirit of Thanksgiving …
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poems, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, thanksgiving on November 24, 2016| 2 Comments »
Here are two poems published today in Telluride Inside & Out.
Wishing you grace all day, friends,
Rosemerry
Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged thanksgiving on November 26, 2015| 4 Comments »
Today again
this longing
to pour joy
into your glass.
I can see you
are so thirsty.
The pitcher
never runs dry,
but sometimes,
distracted,
we forget to drink,
forget to pour
for ourselves
and for each other.
Here.
Though perhaps
we are strangers,
let me fill
your glass,
as others have
filled mine.
There is someone
who desperately
hopes you
will take a sip,
someone who needs
you to pour joy
into their empty cup.
Don’t worry
that it’s too late.
We all forget
how it works.
And then it arrives
again, the invitation
to pour and pour,
and pour, only to find
the pitcher still
miraculously full,
again this chance
to know what
it feels like to share
this bottomless joy.
Happy Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, poem, poetry, thanksgiving on November 25, 2015| Leave a Comment »
I wish every one of you a day, a whole lifetime of giving thanks. Here’s a poem from a few months back published online today in Telluride Inside about radical gratitude, the kind that just rises on its own, no matter what … Autumnal
For an Hour, at Least, on Thanksgiving
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged family, love, poem, poetry, singing, thanksgiving on November 28, 2014| 1 Comment »
I hear America singing, varied carols I hear.
–Walt Whitman
After the mashed potatoes were passed
and after the wine was sipped from the glass
and after the children had left their plates
and before we were ready for pie and cake
we sat around the table and sang
Hotel California, Scarborough Fair,
Morning Has Broken, Walk the Line,
Blister in the Sun, Wild Mountain Thyme
Moon River and My Romance,
Blood on the Saddle, If I Were a Rich Man,
and the words we didn’t know we hummed
or we la-dee-dahed until we found
a phrase to lead us in again.
It’s so like music, gratitude,
the way it draws us closer in
and makes the world feel intimate,
as if anything could happen,
even peace, even love.
I Cross Over, Too
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged gratitude, love, poem, poetry, silence, thanksgiving on November 28, 2013| 5 Comments »
After the last dishes are done
and before we start the next thing to do,
this is a favorite time with you,
when we are almost lost in the house,
a bit purposeless. Our bellies satisfied,
our children asleep. That is when
we might sit side by side
on the couch, and curl into each other.
We don’t have to say anything at all.
Every breath is a bridge.
I feel you crossing over.
Such a subtle perfume, but there
it is, the scent of gratitude.