Friday, November 29, 2013


The Thanksgiving holiday appears to be getting trampled by the ever-increasing need for the retail world to expand Christmas shopping days.

This is a shame, as this has always been, for me, one of the most genuine of holidays. It is a period when everyone, regardless of religion, race, creed, etc. has a chance to reflect on the importance of family, the memories of loved ones, and the many positive things for which we each can give thanks.

Part of our thanks might be for the chance to live in the modern world where the ordinary acts of survival are not such a struggle.

Our ancestors, who are directly responsible for our presence on this earth, often lived hard lives and sacrificed much. It is a fitting time to look back and remember what their lives were like, and give thanks for what they did to make our lives better.

Ancestors (In the Cat’s Eye, 2009), was written after looking through a group of old cartes de visites in an antique shop. The only memories of these mostly nameless souls were now consigned to a dusty box by distant relatives or others who had no knowledge or understanding of their lives. As I looked into the eyes of these subjects, they seemed to speak to me.
 
Glenn K. Currie

 

Ancestors


 
The large trunk

Was filled with sepia leaves.

Fading photographs,

Fallen from ancient branches

Of family trees.

Old souls stared out through the dust,

Faces from centuries past,

Who had outlived memories

And had no labels.

 

Great grandfathers perhaps,

Or children dead at age four.

Soldiers in starched uniforms and farmers

Uncomfortable in stiff suits.

Women, worn through,

Insides painted outside,

The laughter drained out of them.

Pictures that were taken

To tell the world they were here.

But lost in an attic

That forgot they were there.

 

The women tell the story best,

Their eyes fighting a weary war.

They have grown a forest,

And struggled to rebuild it,

Through fire and storm

And disease and destruction.

The men look like explorers,

Passing through on winding paths.

The women look like they lived it.