Thanksgiving

My feet are cold
On a messy wooden floor
With a section not so thoroughly clean
After my daughter's last up-chuck.
She is sleeping lightly in my arms now
But she is content 
as long as she can stay here.


My hair is hanging limp and damp on my back
Clean and fresh.
The dryer dinged not too long ago.
I check the time,
1:41.
My family's Thanksgiving feast is now eaten.
Their little feet are running after friends,
My husband, chatting with friends.
My belly is full of:
Leftover soup
And breakfast pizza.
My heart is full of:
 all the joy that the good Lord gives.
I am thoroughly blessed even though 
My feet are cold.




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