Here is the fall poem of the week. This will be the last one, and then I’m going to start moving into winter…
Thanksgiving
In every room. encircled by a name-
less Southern boy from Yale,
There was my younger sister singing a Fellini theme
And making phone calls
While the rest of us kept moving her discarded boots
Or sat and drank. Outside, in twenty-
nine degrees, a stray cat
Grazed our driveway,
Seeking waste. It scratched the pail.
There were no other sounds.
Yet on and on the preparation of that vast consoling meal
Edged toward the stove. My mother
Had the skewers in her hands.
I watched her tucking skin
As though she missed her young, while bits of onion
Misted snow over the pronged death.
Louise Glück
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Today has been a killer day. I stayed up too late last night watching some low budget horror movie on AMC. I think it was called Return to the House on Haunted Hill or something equally terrible. As a result of staying up too late, I went to bed late and woke up too early, and that has resulted in me being cranky throughout most of the morning. I started to recover during my creative writing class, which I love. Today we talked about Carolyn Forché and Maxine Kumin. I have them reading The Things They Carried for next week and then we’re moving into poetry.
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Brianna Pike 