You can feel it spinning
                                         fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                           ­                             punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                             ­                 overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                              I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                         where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexicoxs greatest and most beloved leader. 

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                            ­                                   shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                       ­                                                       chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, childrenxs games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                              ­                                                inertia.
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                         While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                           ­       Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                           daily meditation.
                                                     ­   The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                        who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                               The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                           together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                            ­                         versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                              And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
"The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments."

Snow on the ground
tears in your eyes
Late Thanksgivings trimmings
being made with a
bit of melancholy
Bittersweet
but bittersweet
is sometimes best.
The sweet is all
the more
        well,
sweet.

Head my words
Read my lips.
The snow is falling
for someone.
I didn't know him
well, and I
could tell
he didn't know me
either.
Alas,
no more;
a quiet death.

Sometimes it occurs to me,
Okay...every morning it does,
To be honest,
As gentle light filters slowly into my room,
And breaks along the window sill,
And scatters across the empty floor,
Reflecting on empty socks,
And what I wore the night before,
Shadows created become ominous shrouds,
Reminding and inviting me,
To return to the unconscious world I was so rudely thrown from,
Kicked out of,
No more peace for me,
No more sleep,
I toss and turn,
Hoping to find that serene place,
Where inviting and invisible wishes remain,
Please another minute or two,  
of unreality, so I plead,
don't make me wake,
It's quieter here,
It's warm and so comforting,
And then the stupid alarm goes off!
Really? It's monday already?

I am thankful that I am not miserable, actually quite happy, and that my family is well, and that I am well, and that this break is unlikely to break me.

The last time I remember enjoying a Thanksgiving break so fully is relatively never. There are always terrifyingly large bursts of joy, but never a continuing follow-up. There has just always been something about my family that is overwhelming and, in the end, hurtful.

It seems this year after a long time of deep contemplation, I know. Maybe not all the intricate problems that behold my family, but it seems to be clear to me why I seem to be unable to handle this time of year. And it even seems silly now, looking at it, why I didn't see it before.

My family breeds contempt. Not utter hatred, we spend time together and love one another, but we hold micro-aggressions, we assume things of one another, we bicker and gossip about other family members and nitpick their actions until its hard to not give each person an endless "I love them, but", a fact that I find silly and even a little pathetic.

They spend every year cramming time together, acting like this big, fun, hysterical family when every five seconds someone turns their back they are turning on each other. I hate it. I hated it even before I realized it. Every year left me exhausted and frustrated and at some point in tears. I've never been exactly a follower in my family, and I was always torn between being like them and having as little as possible in common with their actions. And I can't put all blame on their shoulders, I was sheep when it came to them. I let myself be angry and hateful and spiteful because of stupid things each person had done.

Yes, my grandma gets jealous and out there. Yes, my dad is extremely homophobic and close-minded. Yes, many of the older family members are bitter about each other. And ******* yes is the majority of my family at least a little bit racist.

But you know what? Stupid opinions are not the problem, and they shouldn't be. Its the way we act towards one another. And yes my family literally acts like the characters from Mean Girls, but its the big picture things that are the problem.

I think my Grandma knows she's a little crazy, but I doubt she gives a **** anymore and still loves people just as deeply. And my dad is determined in his ways, but if he persisted to love a mentally ill daughter even when he didn't believe in it, I'm sure he'd get his **** together if my brother or I were gay as well. He doesn't understand, and he won't try, but love is still something that matters. And hell yes my family is racist, but they're more ignorantly and blindly racist than intently. They'd likely never say the things they say to someone they say these things about. Guess its a "I'm a privileged white person but I'm not mean" type thing. Though what they say is ******, I can't fault them for never attacking or hurting or working against these people either.

There are some I can't forgive, like those who don't even bother to try, but its not worth my happiness to suffer through their high school agendas.

So you guys can go gossip about Grandma being crazy. I'm going to write songs with her and talk about books. Complain about my Aunt being all messy after her divorce, I'm going to talk to her about our futures. Make fun of my cousins husband who is a little weird but he at least makes so very happy. I'm going to send her letters and learn more about the woman I lost touch with ten years ago.

They're probably yelling at football and being their difficult yet beautiful selves, but its enough for today, to spend most of the day with them and tonight for myself. Its all right to be the weird one. I kind of even want to be the weird one. I hope they question all day why I go on adventures and do crazy things and write novels and make art. Maybe I won't be as close to them anymore, maybe i won't understand their gripes and frustrations, but maybe at least this way they'll know me better when I'm crazy than the quiet girl who got frustrated with them but felt silent in the corner.

No phone call tonight.
The sick moon
coughs a cloud -
like a gray stain
on its face -
& I watch
as the new cloud
falls through the night
like a guillotine.

Sick moon,
thin and waxing,
my chest is
a curving hurt too.
Twisted and torqued
by the old carving forks
from the Thanksgivings
where red wine
sat screaming, and
polished plates
were also moons,
hard and silent
and empty.

No phone call now,
the breakup is done.
I shed my skin and salt it.

No phone call now,
only vagrant silence.
The sick moon breathes
a scrape of cloud
down the quiet
spine of night.

Thanksgiving Day,
The day of the giving of thanks.
Also known as a public holiday,
When everyone gets together.

Yet, it is unfair that,
Like everyone else,
Her eyes cannot meet his,
His arms cannot hold her,
They cannot dine in laughter,
Across 8,000 miles on such day.

Still, on this day,
She is thankful –
Thankful for who he is,
Thankful for who he is not,
Thankful for what they are,
Thankful for what they are not,
Thankful that they still ARE.

For now,
They cannot spend
Even a single hour of the day
In one another’s company.
But, she looks beyond
What cannot be shared today.

For one day,
They will leap across time
And all the miles in between
To land in each other’s arms
For many Thanksgivings to come.

Hasty groceries,
Annoying prepping,
Crowded kitchen,
Noisy children,
Frustrated guests,
Fattening bellies,
Drunken dance,
Disorderly house,
Sleepy mumbling –
WE will get to all of that.

Days like this remind me
of the 5 year old hanging
from her pink feather boa.

Contrived Eyes,
Smile wide,
Downstairs
at a drugged up,
perfect table.
Far, Far away.

I grew up
and threw it
Far, Far away.

Thanksgivings been found at the bottom of a bottle
and I'm thankful for the dope in my pocket.
I burn that life away.
And this is where I fly
Fly high,
Fly,
Far, Far
away.

I look at my brother
I look at my sister
She looks so much like you
And he looks like her
I wonder what you see in me
Do I have her nose
She says I have your hands

I’m sorry it’s been ten years
And I still ***** dance
With this ***** sprite
When I take these xans

Some times I think you ran
Because you looked at the
Drugs in my hands
That she says look just like yours
And couldn’t face the pain

Knowing we share the same veins
I just hope you don’t think you
Failed
And I hope to God
That you don’t look at me
And feel
That all your efforts
Were to no avail

Yeah, as you can tell
I still blame myself

But
I look at my brother
I look at my sister
And I couldn’t picture
Leaving their mother’s side
Then still trying to attempt
To call them mine

I know I sound selfish
But you married another
And called her child your son
All the while

I wonder what it was I did
Or didn’t do enough
To no longer remain the glue
That kept you at her side
After all this time

What hurts the most
Is you were able
To call my mom your wife
For twenty years of my life
Yet only nine for my brother

He didn’t deserve to feel alone
**** what I feel
You left my little brother alone

I remember the nights
You never came home
And found a reason
To tell yourself
You couldn’t answer the phone

Those were the mornings
I watched Adventure Time
With my brother
In our living room
When it should have been you

Those were the days
I prayed
He would never have to grow up
Without his father at his side
Even though you tell yourself
It’s enough that
You’re “only one hour away”

I know
You both were young
And I don’t believe
That either of you
Every truly found love
Within the arms
Of each other

I know
You only stayed together
So long
Because I was the first
Child you had
And so for her

You wanted me to be happy
And I still hope one day
You discover what that word means

I remember it
I still see it in my dreams
I think I saw it on your face
That day you tried to teach me
How to throw a baseball
Back when we both were young

I never could quite catch
Time and make it last
Like a butterfly
The effect caused me to crash

But I know
You tried your best
To be happy
To smile when you didn’t want to
And I thank you
Dad

But I look at my mother
And my eyes swell up with hate
Only because you couldn’t see
What I do in her
Any longer

I know
I was your first born child
And my first smile
Was the first time
You saw hers in a while
In something other than
Your memories

I hope you never forget that moment
But you broke
My family into two

Two Thanksgivings
Two Christmas’s
Two birthday gifts at a time
When we only ever needed one

these are the times of flowering
throwing out seeds to the winds
birds eggs nests and hatchings
learning to fly in stillness and wind
to balance on spindly legs while
walking on the rotating seasons
bat flight in moon light and insects
by the millions all alive and living
short seasonal thanksgivings
hymning to the universe that's
black and cold with stars warming
other worlds who rotate barren
of life and look on with great envy

A little place
Named The Outpost
Was where I spent
Fourteen months of my short life
Two thanksgivings,
Two Christmases,
And my fourteenth birthday
All spent there
In the place that was my home
When I had no home.

I spent my whole eighth grade year there
And half of my ninth
In that ghetto little motel room
With the rest of my family
With its dark green carpet
Later on replaced for a pale peach
And the one bed my parents shared
And the one couch I called mine
And the floor my brother slept on
When he wasn't elsewhere
Yes,
It was very cramped
One room to the four of us
And it was horrible
Not having any privacy
Always having to deal with my parents
No escape
But I'm grateful for that ***** little motel room
Now that days are better
I'm grateful that I was able to learn
And be grateful for my current home
A small, cheap house
But nonetheless a mansion
Compared to the earlier mentioned

See,
Some people are put into trials
And they come out
With hardened hearts
But I came out
With gratefulness and understanding
Of the rough world around us all
And I know, it's tough
It's really really tough
But you know what?
Those fourteen months were hell
But I'm still here;

If I could do that,
Then you could overcome your trials and tribulations

I believe in you.

Thanksgiving,
What does it even mean?
I mean I know the dictionary definition,
To give thanks,
But what does it really mean?
I mean what is so apealing,
about sitting around a table,
stuffing your self to the brim,
and sitting in akward silence with all of your family members?
I know that with my family this isn't the case,
we talk and tell storys about thanksgivings past.
That is until someone,
gets in a fight with someone else.
Then comes the yelling,
and the screaming,
and the crying,
and last but not least,
the "Come on kids we're going"

And then the akward silence in the car,
that is the worst
then one of the kids asks,
"why were you fighting?"
and Mom just answers,
"Don't wory about it,"
and that is the end of it.

Then you get home and get in bed,
and lay there thinking,
"what is the meaning of thanksgiving?"
"I don't think it's fighting with your family."
And then you fall asleep

This is my goodbye to you.
I've loved you for four years.
I've missed you for one.
I've taken back roads,
And detours to avoid your road.
Slipped and broken bones,
Trying to miss your exit.
Each without success.
Ending up in your driveway,
Falling in love even more.
Knowing **** well you don't love me.
I have loved you since 2014.
Been through hell and back with you.
Only man i trusted to meet my mom,
Last man to ever meet my dad.
I loved you.
Wholeheartedly.
Without bound or limit.
And in the end im spitting out teeth.
From the smack in the face when you left.
Hitting me out of nowhere,
Just gone.
Like i didn't matter.
Over text.
Like and after thought,
Oh by the way...
No.
Ive back pedal and rewritten this dozens of times.
Trying to have the right words.
So you understand.
I'm not you.
Leaving you isn't something that's
Easy for me to do.
You mattered to me.
You were never an after thought.
But my neck still hurts from your leaving.
And 2 months later a new girlfriend
Who must have been there all along.
Like a shadow.
I have loved you for 6 birthdays,
6 christmas's, 6 thanksgivings,
and 5 new years.
But that ends here.
My heart's still pleading with me,
To wait a little longer.
To hang on,
He'll come back.
But you left so fast,
Almost like you were never here.
You watched me watch my dad die.
Told me you'd be here.
To hold me up,
You had my back.
1 month later you had her on her back.
And i became...
An after thought.
Left in the broken bleeding wreckage,
Of my life.
Alone with whiplash.
From the backlash of her,
And you together.
I have loved you for 4 years.
I'll probably love you a lifetime more.
But this is my goodbye to you.
Because after 4 years of loving you.
All i got was....
A text message like an after thought.
Oh by the way,
And whiplash from your cruelty.

Why state the year
when the true Thanksgiving
is timeless..
We give Thanks perhaps..for
the turkey and dressing
or the new home
or a future brightening..
These passing Thanksgivings
outpour from the true Thanksgiving
which will remain true and near
when Black Friday dawns...

Christmas is here, or so some may say. The music is playing, decorations are on display. Stores have more merchandise than ever before. People are scurrying and planning to buy more. Kids are making lists for Santa to see, while some parents are  stressed as can be.

I have been called a scrooge and some may not like my ways. Please forgive me for not counting down the days. You see,  I will slow down for something important I don't want to skip....a holiday others may not believe is as hip.

When Christmas comes I will remember Jesus is the reason but not before I  celebrate the Thanksgiving season. I will bring out the sweet handprint turkeys and memories from each one. And I will reminisce about past Thanksgivings and all of the fun.

I will think about those who look down from above....the lessons they taught about gratitude and love. I treasure the traditions  of recipes shared, stories always told, and football in the yard even when it was cold.  

And still to this day excitement will mount as we gather together with so many blessings to count. Family and friends and so much food to eat....but the time we spend together will be the ultimate treat!!!