Giving thanks,
I stand before thee.
For this life that you gave me,
the husband that I love
and the child that we created.
Grateful, I look at my family.
My mother,
who now seems so tired.
My father,
who has become so bitter.
They’ve paid the price
of living and raising children.
My sister,
now struggling to raise her own.
My brother,
wishing that he could.
Gathered about this table,
with food to fill us.
But hungry for something more.
Is there no drink to renew the soul?
And no bread to sustain us
through the grief?
So many gone,
who sit with us no longer.
It can be hard to give thanks.
Quiet shadows,
roaming through these halls,
writing out the past and future
upon the walls.
Looking at my child, I wonder.
How do I seem to her now?
Will she become any different?
Or just another cycle?
Another ring within the trunk
of this sad and broken family tree?


Posted on November 27, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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