Thanksgiving
Long journey to a gray dawn,
scant leaves trembling still
on broken branches, pathos
of great trunk and arms lopped
off after ice to leave
an elm amputee still reaching up
despite the horrors. We keep on
stirring at sky despite it all,
whisper our stuttered credos,
limp back down
from the hoped-for heights
to the table where we bow our heads,
lift up, still, one more petition.