In USA, the day called Thanksgiving Day is troubled by memories of the racist imperial origins of the country, which included genocide; racial tension continues to define the USA. As does oblivion. Like most holidays it has suffered from the commodification of “times” — these “holy days” have become rituals of consumption. A lot of people know this and still enjoy the holiday as a time of redeeming time by feasting with family and friends.
The haiku I wrote yesterday and continued to worry about today is just barely a haiku. Of course the fun I have with haiku is predicated on the form’s openness to mixed genres. My haiku often have an epigrammatic element that when overdone can flatten the internal tensions of the form. Perhaps the turn of the poem towards outside/inner weather makes it sound more like a haiku. One of the integrated genres here is the song of praise, or psalm.
shopping done pack packed I walk back slowly grateful for the wind and rain