Author's Note: When the December issue first came out, I read Firestone’s fine poem about a trip to the ER on Thanksgiving.  At that time, I happened to be in the process of writing “Thanksgiving In Pain”. 


Thanksgiving In Pain


Without warning
they occupied my lower left side,
camped on a nerve
in the small of my back

and began stabbing
my tender flesh
with tiny knives and forks.

I fed them wine, sleep-inducing
drugs, and all
the tryptophan they could eat

then gave thanks 
for the hip on my right side
which doesn't hurt

for family,  friends and
fellow travelers
on this boulder-strewn path
we all walk together

and for that one red rose
beside the black tree
outside our window
in the afternoon rain.
   




Things I Should Have Done
(a tanka sequence)

last year’s leaves
scattered on the ground
after the hearing
we walk without speaking
to our cars, still holding hands


The goodnight kiss
my daughter says
what she missed
the most
when I left home


grandpa’s face
revealed in the mirror…
shaving my beard
I give myself
another chance


heaving
into the dumpster
a bag
of things I should have done…
long shadows on the grass

Credits:  the goodnight kiss first published in Gusts 16; last year’s leaves won highly commended in the 5th annual Kokako tanka contest; heaving first published in Atlas Poetica 17