Richard Cecil

Our Thanksgiving Series Comes To An End With A Piece From Our 290.6, Nov-Dec Of 2005 Issue

By Richard Cecil

The Night After Thanksgiving

As freezing wind made branches whip and snap,
a silver—rat? raccoon? no,possum—stopped
on the sidewalk up ahead and looked back
at me and I looked back at her and stopped.
“What are you doing here?” must’ve popped
into both our heads at once. I toed a crack
in the sidewalk while she stood in her tracks
and stared at me until my eyes dropped.
Then she turned and sauntered to the woods
bordering the pavement while I stood
frozen in the middle of the walk,
like a mouse who’s spied the shadow of a hawk.
But happiness, not fear’s what I felt blossom
inside me as I stood there playing possum.