The Tipping Point
. . . . . . .Triggered by a radio question (on Talk Of The Nation
or On Point?)
. . . . . . .which was "Who won't be at your Thanksgiving table this year?"
ghosts began appearing in my head
since no one is actually gone
til they disappear from all memory and these are shared;
perhaps more at that table than this, maybe not,
now as I travel a path ever closer to theirs.
The tipping point when you have known more than you now know.
With thanks for all with whom bread has been broken over prayer.
With thanks for all present the love to share.
Family and friends savored, just as the food.
and thanks to all who brought us to this point
ghosts of Thanksgiving past invited too.












































The water falls where the towers fell
the names forever in stone still fresh memory
of flesh and blood of loved ones, family even now.
Say them. Global names of all kinds a common thread
they are remembered with love, children almost too young
to feel daddy's hug still feel ours. We taste their tears.
Our nation wraps in self as one.
Strong voices cracked, the solitary sob caught on camera
a public private moment intertwined.
It is alright. You are with friends.
By Phil Specht on September 11, 2011