Tradition
This Thanksgiving week
I am grateful for the gallon
of peppermint ice cream
I will share in cool, smooth
scoopfuls with my daughter,
who is home from college
and who still enjoys slow
things the way they've been,
despite her fast and changing
life. This is, I hope, fixed
and perfect, a tiny crunch
of delight in a soft calm
late at night, a hoped for
point at which two circular
paths converge, annually,
a still and settled center in
all the maddened spinning.
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