MUSED
BellaOnline Literary Review
Gentle Face by Christine Catalano

Table of Contents

Poetry


Happy Thanksgiving

Ruth Z. Deming

I don’t care much what other folks
think, but at my age – pushing
seven-oh, I still can’t believe

I own my own house and my own car.
Yawning, though engaged, during the
film Age of Adaline, my mind jumped

ship to that favorite thought. I – see
me jumping up and down? – own my
own house and my own car.

Own! The sweetest song in
America. Listen to its verses
Property owner. Homeowner.

Homeowner’s insurance. Buy
both car and home for a
“buyer’s discount.” I am doing

cartwheels on the carpeted floor.
Though I speak with the royal “we”
I live alone. Solicitors come by.

Before we slam the door in their faces – a red door
I painted myself – I put them through
paces. A black guy named Dwayne

sat on the red couch and listened to
my poetry. Two Jehovah’s Witnesses
dressed in black, heard a tirade about

The God of Israel. Sammy put in the
storm window on my side door. Please,
dear God, I pray, let me not think

who will live here when I’m gone.
Roasted, while dead, like next week’s
Thanksgiving turkey.




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Reader Feedback:
Its hard to think of you roasted as the last Thanksgiving turkey. You are soooo very alive always doing something wonderful and creative! A baby at almost seven-oh! You have many, many more milestones to come. Don't hold your breath, just breath through what's on the horizon. And enjoy!!!
~Carlana