THANKSGIVING IN THE ANTHROPOCENE, 2015
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 Rattle #54, Winter 2016
2016 Rattle Poetry Prize Finalist
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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.” (website)
