Thanksgiving, 2018
The eight pound Butterball bakes
at three hundred twenty-five degrees.
The cornbread for dressing cools.
The cranberries boil with one cup each
of sugar and water. The aromas are nice
but weaker in this apartment
than they were in the house.
All things fragrant are less fragrant here
than they were in the house.
Less is seldom more.
at three hundred twenty-five degrees.
The cornbread for dressing cools.
The cranberries boil with one cup each
of sugar and water. The aromas are nice
but weaker in this apartment
than they were in the house.
All things fragrant are less fragrant here
than they were in the house.
Less is seldom more.
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Author's Note
Aromas in a small space
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Looking back ...
I love this poem. The last line is great.
Small space, small turkey.*
Thank you, Erika.
Thank you, Tim.
"Less is seldom more"--until after this poem is read.
I see ironies of "intensity" and "engagement" at work here, not so much competing as complementing.
Good work.
Thank you, Edward.
You really nailed this one, Gary *
Thank you, Foster.
A good one, Gary.
Thank you, Kitty.
You nailed it.
Thank you, Matt.
I love the last line.*
Thank you, Beate.
Wow. So quiet and so moving.
Thank you,Dianne.
Loved the launch, enjoyed the way.
Thank you, Verkaro.