Thanksgiving Hymn


Offering thanks by rasp of plane on orange peel

 by whistle of silver tea kettle

 by drip of juice into cup

 by silently melting butter

 by sharp crack of egg against metal

 by dull whine of paddle on yolk and white

 by poof of sugar lifted into air

 by soft thud of flour into bowl

 by quick clickety-clacking of knife through cranberry

 by rattling clatter of walnuts on wood

 by soft hiss of salt streaming into teaspoon

 by precise scrape of baking powder and tin

 by clumsy smoothing of soda on box

 by mixing of all the bits from their origins

through the foaming and frothing

until the batter comes together, settles down

the sloppy slide into the loaf pan

the click of the oven door opening

the rough scrape of the slide on the rack

the rising aroma

orange

sugar

cranberry

wheat


giving thanks for Karolina’s lesson of offering

for twenty years baking in Michal’s bright floral apron

for the litany of loved ones my mother and grandmother and I once recited

each night:

God bless Mom, Dad, Molly, Berta&Joe, Mary&Will, Grandy&Aunt Mary, Aunt Catherine&Uncle Jerry, Jim&Elva, Pope John Paul the Second, all my loved ones

(all but 3 gone from this world)


giving thanks for being here

for being well

for being blessed with so many new loved ones

for all the unwarranted abundance

every day holds

for Fannie Farmer’s cookbook

and her cranberry nut bread.