To a Passer-By on Thanksgiving Day - Seth H. Truby

[Larry Robinson]


To a Passer-By on Thanksgiving Day
 
 
Gentle Reader, 
it is good that you have paused
along your way, accepting
the silent invitation of these lines
 
 
For it was you I had in mind
when I sat to write these words,
you, holding a paper cup
of lukewarm dark roast coffee
and a satchel filled with groceries,
or you, clutching the dog’s leash
in one hand, with the other
pushing a stroller around the corner,
and even you, whom I had not
imagined in such precise terms
 
 
For you I drew my pen across the empty page
as earlier I drew my garden rake
again and again through withered grass
and over the buried front walk,
metal tines clawing wet concrete
gathering sodden maple leaves,
potent gift of high summer sun
turning then returning now to earth
 
 
For you I cleared a solitary path
prepared the way for your lonely passage
so that a mere moment of your journey 
through the detritus of this world 
might be blessed by an open space
awaiting your arrival,
conspicuous in its care,
this page inscribed in answer
to the ground now scraped bare.
 
 
 	- Seth H. Truby

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