Night after Thanksgiving

Sitting still
after multiple
tasty slices
of Luigi's thin
crust pizza ---
ricotta melted
topside ---
from just down the street,
followed by fresh green salad
tossed at home,
with my daughter cozy,
home from college
this first Thanksgiving,
across the small room
from me,
her dad.

She's donned
a lemony yellow
sweatshirt, perched
on the brown chair
circa (around) 1960
from my parents'
disappeared
Russell Road home.

She's half-hidden
under canary bird
cotton hood,
intently texting
new and old friends.
The moment creates
a light of treetops inside
living room sky,
a leafy quiet
seldom heard
in the din
of my often loud,
anxiously
sturdy self.

I desire to raise
my voice in silent
song of gratitude
for daughters and fathers,
friends and lovers,
neighbors and
each and every
denizen of high rise condo
and wooded cabin,
for everyone fat,
comfortable and
pillowed asleep
or partly awake
or today thin
and stranded
in unwanted solitude
on our difficult
abundant earth,
so they and we
may from scalp to sole
be blessed and birthed
for all time golden,
re-created,
shining with gleam
of radiance
durably healed,
thus enduring,
we are completed
and in this dear moment
deemed made whole.