Thanksgiving List by Danielle Johnson
Baby skin, the laughter of
girls, the bell
ringing,
the smell of lemongrass
and freshly baked cookies,
co-workers like family, the
flowers picked by little hands,
sun shining on the sand,
the ocean so
massive, so full of
peace and adventure,
the faces on cards
that fill our mailbox.
Seph’s strength,
and his loyalty,
and his patience.
Brothers.
Shelter when it snows,
parents loving me like I’m
still a child,
needing protection and
spoiling,
the rare days when I get
eight hours of uninterrupted sleep,
the heartfelt notes from will
be teachers so thankful and full of promise,
the sound of breathing,
my car (or house or desk)
staying clean
for more than one day,
the smell of cold,
of wide awake,
of calm returning to our
evenings.
The walk I hope
to take across the stage this
spring,
the students with so much energy,
so full of life
my friends
of understanding, of full
social calendars, of companionship.
And the daughters at the center,
my lessons, my heart
My shout into the future
My tribute to my past.
Thanksgiving List from
Out of the Dust by Karen Hesse
Prairie birds, the whistle of
gophers, the wind
blowing,
the smell of grass
and spicy earth,
friends like Mad Dog, the
cattle down in the river,
water washing over hooves,
the sky so
big, so full of
shifting clouds,
the cloud shadows creeping
over the fields,
Daddy’s Smile,
and his laugh,
and his songs,
Louise,
food without dust,
Daddy seeing to Ma’s piano,
newly cleaned and tuned,
the days when my hands don’t
hurt at all,
the thank-you note from
Lucille in Moline, Kansas,
the sound of rain,
Daddy’s hole staying full of
water
as the windmill turns,
the smell of green,
of damp earth,
of hope returning to our
farm.
The poppies set to
bloom on Ma and Franklin’s
grave,
the morning with the whole
day waiting, full of promise,
the night
of quiet, of no expectation,
of rest.
And the certainty of home,
the one I live in,
and the one
that lives in me.
