Kathleen O’Neil is from Liverpool NY.
By Kathleen O’Neil
The fête is upon us,
this is thanksgiving. The smooth, heavy taste of sugar
and the firm scent of meat, spices.
Tart fruits spill over cool stone tables.
Even the wise look renewed, fresh and brisk.
There’s no smoke; it’s
Everyone merrily rends
their bread into strips and pours from carafes of wine,
but I …
I can feel it there,
permeating the sheets,
the lines, the
There’s no past,
only the deceit
The dead aren’t gone,
they’re looking up at us from below.
They lie there,