• Robert Wooten

Have a Seat


It is too pleasing.

I tried to work Thanksgiving at the soup kitchen though I waited too long and they didn’t need me. I whittled Thanksgiving away reading; waiting for the big bus to come and scatter the dull yellow patterans that had repaved the road overnight;

and waiting for the time to kill Thanksgiving, to knock it out of the air as the wind blows squirrel’s nest leaves out of the tree.

Winter is the season for the dead, remembering, as in the mass at Halloween, the dead in our prayers, Christmas comes in it: the splendid ceremony of thanksgiving and harvest.

Listening to the sermon today, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the songs took my breath away;

the ceiling of the church grew lighter. I imagined how we may exist as one Body, but I was suppressed by pain he noise of babies crying at the front of the church. That is why they baptize babies.

Published on the Ancient Paths Facebook page April 27, 2019

#AncientPathspoems #AncientPathsarchive