Thanksgiving Day

For yes it is Thanksgiving Day,

And the men and women,

Lying alone in a hospital bed,

Or in a jail cell,

Or some stinking shelter cot,

Broken in body,

Holding on in spirit--or not,

Alone and in pain,

Visited perhaps by their own broken down lover,

Or else just by memory and regret, all it seems in vain.

Or visited not at all,

Wondering which is worse:

Death, or life? 

Unable to eat or sleep or rest,

Or even to feel any gratitude for anything,

But knowing only bitter sorrow, fear, and worry:

Since they cannot, 

I offer hearty thanksgiving on their behalf,

For all that is and ever was and will come to be.

And beseech you welcome them in,

With open arms, and healing touch and shooting stars and such,

And join us all in one sweet final dance, on the edge of the endless sea.