Poemsby Emily Dickinson

Childish Griefs

Thanksgiving Day

One day is there of the series
  Termed Thanksgiving day,
Celebrated part at table,
  Part in memory.
Neither patriarch nor pussy,
  I dissect the play;
Seems it, to my hooded thinking,
  Reflex holiday.
Had there been no sharp subtraction
  From the early sum,
Not an acre or a caption
  Where was once a room,
Not a mention, whose small pebble
  Wrinkled any bay, —
Unto such, were such assembly,
  'T were Thanksgiving day.