It is just after nine.
Sun splashed on faded brick
fire escape and climbing Ivy
of the building beyond
our backyard.

I’m still in bed.
My clothes are on the floor,
phone completely unusable
on my night table.
Today is Thanksgiving.

A few friends are here
for the parade you couldn’t
pay me enough to go to.
The feast will be served
in our backyard, and I can’t help

dreaming about next year, when
maybe we will have more tables
and more kids from Avenue C
over and more neighbors over
but this year this is perfect.

I’m making the sweet potatoes.
And I’m stealing Kirsten’s recipe.
I can’t stop thinking about my family.
What’s Nanny doing today? and Uncle Glen,
and where’s Aunt Deb?

I hung sweaters on the line
a few nights ago.
They are sopping wet from rain.

The sky is July blue today.
My roommate is snoring gently.
I want to know what the day will
be like.

I’m going to run down
to the river.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in fall, Food, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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