Ellen Celebrates Thanksgiving

My gratitude fits on the head of a pin sometimes—
like angels—but today I am thankful for this drive,
alone, after dinner. Across the bridge to the reservoir,
the factory where they used to make veggie burgers
(the scent of soy belching out of the smokestacks;
we said we could smell it on the kids who lived nearby),
the place where the apartment buildings begin, houses
tailing off, smaller and smaller. Belén lived there,  
and so did the one bad boy I ever dated. No need for
his name, or not just now. But sometimes, my car
finds its way over that bridge, back to that complex
of apartments, filled with other families by now,
of course, nothing remaining of Belén or Nameless.
I’ll have to find a store on the way home, any one
that’s open, to buy the Cool Whip I said I needed
for the pies. A house full of company, and I drive off
looking for ghosts of friendship and love—ashamed,
maybe, but so grateful, I could almost burst into tears.

Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s