every year the dish looms before me on the thanksgiving buffet, its lurid contents lurking, watching for the next innocent plate to appear.
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green jello

thanksgiving on the prairie
gold-bleached grasses bend
in the wind while ice frosts
the slender fingers of every
black-barked tree

thanksgiving
for the white-headed eagles soaring through the morning for the prairie grasses of gold and bronze and brown for the rustling evensong of cottonwood leaves for the full moon reflected in the wind-ruffled pond for the soule You saved on plymouth rock for the soul You saved from a wayward heart for these, Lord, i…
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