<p><b><i> Thanksgiving</i></b></p> <p><b></b></p> <p><i> Eighteen eider ducks</i></p> <p><i> are swimming in the sun</i></p> <p><i> from Vineyard Haven’s harbor</i></p> <p><i> on their lighthouse run</i></p> <p><i></i></p> <p><i> underneath our dock and by</i></p> <p><i> our bright sand cove</i></p> <p><i> they pause to feed, then spin and</i></p> <p><i> dance in pairs, as if in love</i></p> <p><i></i></p> <p><i> with the freezing winter weather</i></p> <p><i> come too soon: November, first</i></p> <p><i> plunging from Indian summer</i></p>
Thanksgiving
Eighteen eider ducks
are swimming in the sun
from Vineyard Haven’s harbor
on their lighthouse run
underneath our dock and by
our bright sand cove
they pause to feed, then spin and
dance in pairs, as if in love
with the freezing winter weather
come too soon: November, first
plunging from Indian summer
to quench some bad god’s thirst.
Sun lures me to the window.
Wind keeps me from the shore,
but eider ducks are waltzing
to life’s music. Play me more!
— Rose Styron
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