Dressed in leaves,
Extending itself somehow to every corner of the earth,
Whether by land or sea.
It catches the tears of the sky
Which result from the never-ending stream of midterms and misfortunes
That are eclipsed by a single Thursday
When we all go home, only to come back
Days later to finish walking
Along the same paths.
The brief time home
Is filled with sparkly spray-painted leaves
Arranged in wooden baskets
And the veneration of the turkey
Despite its obvious insubordination to chicken
And lack of historical accuracy.
Yet the true prize of this trip is seeing family and friends,
Who walk along other paths clothed in leaves
But join you at the place where they all converge
For despite the earth’s people being scattered
Friends and family somehow manage to trace themselves
To the places and the people who matter the most
Despite college or careers or the other factors
Space, and the people in it.
We’re all living in the fourth dimension,
Even though we might not believe it.
Because somehow, time slows when we need it to,
So that we can savor the memories we’re making
More than we savor our turkey.
This is a poem about pavement.
The very thing on which we walk and drive
And launch from on flights to destinations around the world.
It dresses itself in the colors of fall
And the tears of life, both happy and sad,
So that when we converge with the people we love,
At the point where these roads cross,
We find an image of life
That somehow represents exactly us.
And amongst our family and friends,
With such a beautiful snapshot of the moment,What else matters on Thanksgiving?