Edward Iacona (August 27,1948 / Brooklyn, New York)
There's a little tradition on Thanksgiving
In which the family and each guest
Takes a turn before the dinner
To tell how their lives are blessed.
Each person speaks of gratitude
Within their minds reflection
As she listens and waits what does she think
In her personal introspection.
Does she give thought to her family
Once united, happy and strong.
Or a single thought to her husband
And how she did them wrong.
Details here are unimportant,
As our hurt remains inside.
Does she have any accountability
To consider how she lied.
If there's a mental inquisition
If recent past comes to her minds door...
My question ends with a preposition
What could she be thankful for?
Comments about this poem (THANKSMISGIVINGS by Edward Iacona )
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