“A turkey needs its feathers,”
my son says, as I watch you two glue
tons of colorful pins
some stick to fabric, some to skin
others free fall in greying November sky.
Beauty marks on a browning body,
black-bearded feathers extend,
and your dozing daddy,
sleeping on the blanket
after a long fall
will awaken to find
himself a centerpiece,
the perfect embellishment,
and also the main course
in our makeshift Thanksgiving feast.
Written for a photo contest, and inspired by the craftiness of my two children.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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