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

The home.

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

Which divide

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?