Thanksgiving is easy for us, blowing bubbles of gratitude as we sit around the mountain   of a Butterball turkey, looming above steaming fixings and glass pools of water and wine   in other places, an ounce of rice quiets a growling stomach, a gulp of water pushes away death   which means their hearts have nothing to say   because their mouths are too busy praying for something, anything to be grateful for

mockingbirds always scream as they chase their kind probably territorial   but what if it’s something else - maybe a stunning song set from another mockingbird   I’m sure they listen to the sounds of night like we do, from these birds that never sleep   and how terrible that would be if they sounded like less of a master of melodies   and more a sore-throated chickadee

Strange, the way a raven drinks a spilled milkshake, not by its built-in straw of a mouth, but ladling from the lower beak. I keep replaying this in my mind while reading some article in the paper about Madagascar, a coup or something, which makes me want to know if they drop milkshakes there and how their birds swallow it,   with the spoon of their beak or the logical beak-straw method   Then my curiosity shifts to how Madagascarians drink milkshakes, whether they straw-sip