Thursday, November 23, 2017

Thanksgiving 2017


The photograph atop this entry was taken by yours truly. It is featured in one of my very first entries here on Blogger. The picture was taken on a Thanksgiving day in the 1990's. This photo is featured in Photo-Glaz Magazine, as a result of a competition juried by Roy DeCarava.

The image is also included within the Recognition Page of my web-site, patriciayoungquist.com, which was designed by Chris Deatherage. He also formatted the soft and hard cover versions of the book Words In Our Beak Volume One (pictured below respectively) that I wrote with my visiting cardinal, Cam.


In any event, the photograph atop this entry is on my mind today as I've just come across a poem that seems to go with my image. The poem is Perhaps the World Ends Here, and is written by Joy Harjo.

As a way to honor of this Thanksgiving Day for 2017, I've posted a copy of Harjo's poem directly below:

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

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