Thanksgiving Day
It smells like autumn
down by the corner store
I linger just long enough
to miss home.
The Question
And the question, no--the Question is:
What nonchalant adventures
what lazy, meaningful afternoons
what wild conversations
what poignant moments
what is IT, really, that everyone else is so engaged in, while I flit about, gripping my to-do lists, my comfort, my pen, with white-knuckled angst?
What door should I be knocking on? Where is Inside? Where is everyone else, and what on earth are they doing?
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