Tristan Robert Lange

A Thanksgiving Poem

On this day, like a cold wraith, I haunt those who gather showing faith,

Not genuine faith, but the kind that’s on display for family—

The kind that holds up shit for the sake of ill-advised tradition—

The kind that holds up exclusive privilege as divine blessings;

All of this done around a gluttonous feast we call Thanksgiving

So that those of us lucky enough can cherish our memories.

But what good are those dreamy things hiding our tendril memories

Goring deep in our souls and desecrating what’s left of our faith?

We sit there at these fancy tables and gorge on our Thanksgiving

Feasts, all the while ignoring the lonely in need of family—

People who would die to receive even an eighth of such blessings—

So that we can feel everything is right with the world’s traditions.

Look, hey friend, I am not here to knock everybody’s traditions—
I am not here to burst a bubbled existence’s memories—

I am just saying that what we are thanking God for, those blessings,

Are empty because we are forgetting the core essence of faith.

Faith expressions are not exclusively reserved for family;

Only when we recognize that will we show God true thanksgiving.

And, friend, isn’t that what this season is all about: Thanksgiving?

That state of being is more than an attitude or tradition.

It goes beyond material goods and the bonds of family,

And far beyond the vague nothingness of our shoddy memories—

Back to the very foundation of our strong fortress: our own faith.

It is that foundation that is the wellspring of all our blessings.

Friend, blessings are not to hoard; rather, they’e for showering blessings

On “the least of these” among us so that they can feel Thanksgiving

To God for supplying them with what they need and renewing faith

That will build them, and the world around them, up in new tradition—

A tradition that will honor and bless all people’s memories,

Happy or haunting—in solidarity as a family.

And God created us, if you believe, to be a family—

Not divided, but filled with empathy and love—sharing blessings.

Even if you don’t believe, surely you must see that memories

Of deceit cloud our discernment and expose our own Thanksgiving

As empty in this current state of greedy gluttons’ tradition.

This, friend, cannot be considered any real sign of a true faith.

Though I have my own blessings, I am not content with Thanksgiving

Moments—even memories—that’re serving nothing but tradition.

What I want for the human family: to display a true faith.