Every day's Thanksgiving

Every day's Thanksgiving

We never sat together
at the table, but
but we shared meals ...

Warm fish chowder
delivered in a wide-mouth
mason jar

He said it reminded him of
Friday night fish suppers
and the chowder
his mother made when
he was a boy

He marveled at the
dice-cut potatoes,
chunks of cod, and
the thin, soup-like
broth he slurped from
the bottom of the bowl

He said after the first
spoonful he knew
the only thing missing
from the recipe
were his lips

That made us laugh

And then there was
Thanksgiving

Year after year we
invited him in, but
year after year he
declined

Thanking us with
clasped hands
and a slight bow

He wouldn't join us at
the table, but he welcomed
the overstuffed bag of
Thanksgiving
we left under the hood
of the rusted-out grill
that stood in his front yard
next to the flagpole

He was a Vietnam veteran
who greeted neighbors
with gusto

Who, at the sight of you,
would fling his arm out
the side window of his
pickup truck to
deliver a broad wave

Who'd yell, Go home and
hug your baby

Who every year, reminded
us to wear long sleeves and
bring a broomstick to push
back the thorny branches
and help ourselves to the
blackberries that grew
wild in his yard

Who, the day after
Thanksgiving would
leave a message that
sounded more like
a love letter

For what he deemed
the silkiest mashed
potatoes he'd ever eaten,
turkey that had him
licking his fingers,
and pie so sweet
he could manage only
one or two bites
because he wanted more

tomorrow

Who would, no matter the
time of year, turn his palms
skyward and part ways with
the words: Every day's
Thanksgiving

And we knew he was
right

Yes, Irving, every day is
Thanksgiving.

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