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      April 3, 2017Thanksgiving in the Anthropocene, 2015Craig Santos Perez

      Thank you, instant mashed potatoes, your bland taste 
      makes me feel like an average American. Thank you, 
       
      incarcerated Americans, for filling the labor shortage 
      and packing potatoes in Idaho. Thank you, canned 
       
      cranberry sauce, for your gelatinous curves. Thank you, 
      Ojibwe tribe in Wisconsin, your lake is now polluted 
       
      with phosphate-laden discharge from nearby cranberry 
      bogs. Thank you, crisp green beans, you are my excuse 
       
      for eating dessert later. Thank you, indigenous migrant 
      workers, for picking the beans in Mexico’s farm belt, 
       
      may your children survive the journey. Thank you, NAFTA, 
      for making life so cheap. Thank you, Butterball Turkey, 
       
      for the word, butterball, which I repeat all day butterball
      butterball, butterball because it helps me swallow the bones 
       
      of genocide. Thank you, dark meat for being so juicy 
      (no offense, dry and fragile white meat, you matter too). 
       
      Thank you, 90 million factory farmed turkeys, for giving 
      your lives this holiday season. Thank you, factory farm 
       
      workers, for clipping turkey toes and beaks so they don’t scratch 
      and peck each other in overcrowded, dark sheds. Thank you, 
       
      genetic engineering and antibiotics, for accelerating 
      their growth. Thank you, stunning tank, for immobilizing 
       
      most of the turkeys hanging upside down by crippled legs. 
      Thank you, stainless steel knives, for your sharpened 
       
      edge and thirst for throat. Thank you, de-feathering 
      tank, for your scalding-hot water, for finally killing the last
       
      still conscious turkeys. Thank you, turkey tails, for feeding 
      Pacific Islanders all year round. Thank you, empire of 
       
      slaughter, for never wasting your fatty leftovers. Thank you, 
      tryptophan, for the promise of an afternoon nap—
       
      I really need it. Thank you, store bought stuffing, 
      for your ambiguously ethnic flavor, you remind me 
       
      that I’m not an average American. Thank you, gravy, 
      for being hot-off-the-boat and the most beautiful 
       
      brown. Thank you, dear readers, for joining me at this 
      table. Please hold hands, bow your heads, and repeat
       
      after me: “Let us bless the hands that harvest and butcher 
      our food, bless the hands that drive delivery trucks 
       
      and stock grocery shelves, bless the hands that cooked 
      and paid for this meal, bless the hands that bind 
       
      our hands and force feed our endless mouth. 
      May we forgive each other and be forgiven.

      from #54 - Winter 2016

      Craig Santos Perez

      “I am a native Chamorro poet originally from the Pacific Island of Guam, and I currently live and teach in Hawai’i. I write poems to raise awareness about cultural, political, social, and environmental issues. I hope my Thanksgiving poem ruins your appetite.”