No, this has nothing to do with Thanksgiving, except that today is Thanksgiving Eve. I wanted to say, though, that if you're not reading Alan Dugan, you should be. This is why I read poetry, why I slog through tons of crappy verse, on the off chance of finding, well, a Dugan.
So enjoy while I go cook. And happy turkey basting to you all!
In The Forest
it was warm and cold,
cold from the damps because
it all took place in the trees.
When it rained it rained
and when the rain stopped
the trees rained in the wind
and when the trees stopped
it rained. So it went.
Once it was huddling, once
it was sitting apart, once
it was bleeding in time.
We ate and we drank
and we slept and we
did something else
we should not talk about.
Was it love? It was all
supposed to be love.
My it was dark
at night. Whoever it was
who planned that place
forgot the lighting
although some claim to see.
(Alan Dugan, Poems Seven, Seven Stories Press, 2002.)
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