Happy Thanksgiving from the writers, photographers, editors, and programmers at
Concentrate!
And feel free to cheer our publication on as we compete in
826Michigan's Skrabbel For Cheaters this Sunday, downtown at Conor O'Neill's.
Please enjoy this poem by Emily Dickinson.
One day is there of the series
Termed Thanksgiving day,
Celebrated part at table,
Part in memory.
Neither patriarch nor pussy,
I dissect the play;
Seems it, to my hooded thinking,
Reflex holiday.
Had there been no sharp subtraction
From the early sum,
Not an acre or a caption
Where was once a room,
Not a mention, whose small pebble
Wrinkled any bay,—
Unto such, were such assembly,
‘T were Thanksgiving day.
from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson (Little, Brown, 1924),
available online at Bartleby.com
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