Thanksgivings

Thanksgivings

in Iowa,

snow covering

the grass I mowed

for my father-in-law

last summer,

the corn stalks

like empty hands,

broken arms reaching up

in frozen rows

out the back window,

through curtains

of my wife's

old room,

the room where she

was a young girl

I never knew;

scrapbooks

of school trips and

boyfriends

collect dust

in the far back corner

of a closet

and I sit

knowing nothing

of what could have been---

picture of a young girl

I never saw,

her face familiar

as my own---

realizing again what is.