"Is that so?" is my motto, even as I ever so quietly notice what is going on. I offer a part of a poem that strikes me. It seems appropriate for Thanksgiving week, and is written by Linda Gregerson. It is titled "Maculate" and most of the italicized parts are adapted from Luke 12.
I remember going door to door, it must
have been nineteen
thirty-six and half the town was out of work,
we always had the Red Cross drive in March
the lilies how they grow.) The snowmelt
frozen hard again, and cinders on the shoveled
I was wearing your grandmother's boots.
(Consider the ravens, they have neither storehouse
The grocer gave a nickel, I can see him yet,
some people had nothing at all.
And I came
to Mrs. Exner's house (no thief
approacheth, neither moth.) The woman
was so bent
with arthritis, nearly hooped
when she walked up the street with her bucket and mop
in all his glory). The people
she cleaned for wouldn't keep a bucket in the house
moth). She gave me three new dollar
bills, I'll never forget it, I wanted the earth
to swallow me up.
Happy Thanksgiving every day!!