Tryptophan Reflection

This poem was in the New York Times the day after Thanksgiving (along with several other lovely writings on the holiday). I had planned to post it on that day, but could not remember my username to log in and post. So it has taken me until now to finally remember it.

The poem reminded me of our Thanksgiving this year because the Nelsons spent it with us. It was their first Thanksgiving without Gran Nelson and also their first one away from West Virginia. They decided to spend it as differently as possible so as not to invite too many memories of his absence. Laura's grandfather died a little over two months ago and so this holiday was fresh with memories and grieving, especially for Laura's grandma. So after much absence in my posting, here we go:

THE GATHERING
by Billy Collins

Outside, the scene was right for the season,
heavy gray clouds and just enough wind
to blow down the last of the yellow leaves.

But the house was different that day,
so distant from the other houses,
like a planet inhabited by only a dozen people

with the same last name and the same nose
rotating slowly on its invisible axis.
Too bad you couldn't be there

but you were flying through space on your own asteroid
with your arm around an uncle.
You would have unwrapped your scarf

and thrown your coat on top of the pile
then lifted a glass of wine
as a tiny man ran across the screen with a ball.

You would have heard me
saying grace with my elbows on the tablecloth
as one of the twins threw a dinner roll
across the room at the other.


(Billy Collins is the author, most recently, of "The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems.")