It was a difficult year in every corner of the country. But there are still neighbors and family members, breathtaking landscapes and gratitude for the curve without a break’

When Americans gather for Thanksgiving in a nation plagued and crushed by rampant disease and divisions, you may ask yourself: what must we be thankful for all these years?

More than a quarter of a million people died of a scourge that nobody knew existed at the time last year Forest fires and hurricanes devastated large parts of the country Trustworthy institutions – science, post offices, voting – were politically attacked

Jobs have disappeared Hospitals have been overwhelmed Lines stretch for blocks at grocery banks Students cannot sit in classrooms or travel home from colleges without quarantine, swabs and evasive action Neighbors cannot safely break bread at Thanksgiving tables, provided they still have the will

Gratitude Remains Still Last week we asked poet award winners around the country why people in their states would be grateful. They responded enthusiastically, some within minutes, many with poetry

“I’ve wanted a little light lately – and there it was,” wrote Karen Craigo of Missouri, describing a population of small trees that “glowed like campfires” and made her ponder on other blessings

In Maine, Stuart Kestenbaum called out “storm winds along the coast in the morning” and thanked the crew – “these men do their job” – who were fixing his failed power line in the dark in headlights

“It’s not difficult for Californians to know who to thank in 2020,” wrote Dana Gioia, California’s youngest poet. “This fall, four million acres of the Golden State went up in flames. Thank you – profound and amazing – the fire, police and emergency personnel, as well as the volunteers in the prison who risked their own safety to protect us ”

Oregon Poet Award Winner Anis Mojgani was also grateful “The Earth Still Has Not Set Us Free” His predecessor, Kim Stafford, recalled the catastrophic forest fires that swept through this state and wrote over Another savior: “Rain nibbles at the root of the flame, gray ash sludge”

Snow coming down from Canada to cover the leaves we didn’t rake, and sometimes a heat wave afterwards and a second chance to fix things

Not All States Responded The New York Times Inquiry brought with it some prosaic terms – 100 words or less in a newspaper deadline, a big job for a sophisticated art form.Some states don’t have a poet laureate. New Jersey got the 2003 post because of Eliminated controversy, and Idaho replaced him with a broader writer-in-residence appointment in the 1980s, the last full-time poet to hold the job, Diane Raptosh, who also served as Boise’s Poet Laureate, provided the poem this state at

Still other states were between poets In California, Mr. Gioia’s tenure ended in 2018 and the governor has yet to appoint a successor Illinois has been without an official poet since 2017; We received contributions from his last laureate and the poet who followed him on Wednesday

But the many authors who have responded reflected a widespread, if weary, appreciation, both for regional grit and for more universal blessings, many wrote about the humanity and community around them in these socially distant times

Hawaii’s poet was grateful for “close-knit island communities”, Wyoming for “neighbors help neighbors despite great distances” and Alabama for a state where people “gather to help one another in times of crisis””

And North Carolina is for “North Carolinians” and “the many ways we have gathered to take care of each other.””And South Dakota is the first real test of” food, resources / each other – love and fear “

Paisley Rekdal of Utah wrote of “Something Unusual: Crowds in the Canyon, Bobby LeFebre of Colorado reached out on social media to commemorate the state’s gratitude for” love, family, health, work, creator, community, culture / resilience “Art, Abolitionists, Education, Imagination, Clarity / Life, Truth, Weeds” and much more

Beth Ann Fennelly of Mississippi was “grateful that one could count on: One Mississippi, two I’m grateful for the word. Thank you all for the forcefulness”

“After many and many have been taken away from us, we collect what is left at our otherwise empty table / like sacred guests,” said Kevin Stein, the last laureate of the poet in Illinois, whose successor was Angela Jackson

She was grateful for “Way Stations / People of All Kinds / People – / All Colors / One One / In the Land of Lincoln. Similarly, Virginia poet Luisa A Igloria recalled the fall of the Confederate monuments in the race bill of the summer and thanked “for the thousand thousand corpses that marched in the hearts of grieving, inflamed cities”

ML. Smoker and Melissa Kwasny, Montana’s Poet Prize Winner, wrote together: “After 125 years, the Little Shell Tribe of the Chippewa Indians was finally granted federal recognition. Next door, Ms. Raptosh wrote four“ gratitude sonnets ”and prayed that the“ Vowels in Idaho ” “Put ourselves in some new, non-tribal units”

Kari Gunter-Seymour of Ohio checked out Zoom, “a window with windows in a doll’s house,” and she wasn’t the only Grace Cavalieri from Maryland thanking her for bringing poetry that “can’t be stopped by misfortune to Alexandria Peary wrote that the people of New Hampshire were glad to look up from him and see Mount Washington in their living room window ”

“Thank you for pulling the crow outside my window,” wrote Mary Ruefle from Vermont. “Thank you for drawing the crumpled bittersweet berries,” Tina Cane of Rhode Island quoted as saying “expansive ocean views that feel convey peace, amazement and hope and offer space to rest ”

In New Mexico, Levi Romero was “grateful for remedial action, Te de Cota, Manzanilla, Osha,” and in Kansas, Huascar Medina gratefully wrote, “Some of us will save a lot on our little Thanksgiving dinners,” maybe each other, Larry Voivode in North Dakota thanked the “double poles of the Dakota spirit: / Faith and work” and another means between them: “the common act of art”

In Kentucky, Jeff Worley also offered art – a selection of books by his state’s writers and poets, Chelsea Rathburn, Georgia, who was looking at a picture her daughter had taken on Thanksgiving day and asked what she was grateful for in 2020 “That this year is almost over,” replied the 8-year-old

The Delaware poets, twin brothers Al Mills and Nnamdi Chukwuocha, welcomed their colleague Delawarean, President-elect Joseph R Biden Jr And Peter Meinke wrote an ode to Florida that “voted for Trump and would do it again if she got a chance”

Going through the answers was a common thread: gratitude for just being here. Perhaps this is appropriate for a holiday that we attribute to pilgrims who did not want to starve and which was made official by a civil war president who desperately wanted that his divided nation has something in common, even just one meal in November

Nevertheless it is noticeable: On a day when we celebrate for Comity and a lot, we stand apart this year and thank in our poems for the easy survival

“You see, we still hold on here just enough,” wrote Marc Harshman, West Virginia Poet Prize winner, “despite what we do wrong”

The gale force winds up the coast in the morning, blowing up to 60 miles an hour.A Norway maple comes down in our back yard, falls on both cars, disconnects the power line, and rips the cord and meter right off the side of the house call the energy company There are power outages all over Maine and the crews have to wait for the wind to subside. At 9:00 p.m. we hear the bucket pull up. Two men, one just getting started, the other a veteran, get out and turn on their headlights and work in the dark, lift the line and put it back on. We thank them, these men do their work line by line, through the forest, away from miles of two-lane roads, the power supply is restored “You are our last stop for the night” says one, “After that we go home for dinner”

According to all indications I spent time today studying forehead lines that were connected to another Zoom meeting My screen was a window with windows in a doll’s house I like to think I have good ears and what I hear from Ohioansis – grateful Grateful for a governor who believes in masks and distancing, feeds displaced school children and poetry Grateful for an unusual autumn with sun and mild breeze Lasting well into November, the leaves cling to their colors like a Matisse painter or a toddler with a fist from Crayolas The choice is over Time moves then moves again and the forehead lines are bar graphs, flesh and brave Bone pictures

After Many and Muchhave have been taken from us, we gather something at our otherwise empty table that remains like sacred guests. Feast of hunger, insatiable, if comforting, we greet the cashier, whose eyes smile above her mask, our improvised zoom -Goodnight stories, his smiling waves behind glass, corn in his trash can and acres tormented by snow, conveyor belts giving birth to their offspring Crimson maple leaf that landed on a boy’s lap on the porch, the ballot, the television like a lipstick subdued, shoosh – that sudden apothecary hoping like sugar on your tongue, your unloved hand in mine

Grateful for old men, white and black, weathered like the sweet potatoes they get out of the beds of their pickups at every other motorway exit. Grateful for the sweet potato-colored dirt from which these tubers are pulled. Grateful for hay bales, both blocky like Legos Also round like sushi Not grateful for sushi in Mississippi but for 16/20 golf prawns sold in refrigerators at Texacos Grateful for the secret of tamales For fireflies, bald cypresses, magnolia green sweater spiders I’m grateful that I get ruby ​​throats every fall I am grateful that you are welcome in the spring. Grateful to be relied on: One Mississippi, two I’m grateful for the word Thank you all for the assertiveness To everyone in this state of hospitality: Grateful / p>

“The New York Times has classified the Robert E Lee memorial in its current form as the most influential work of American protest art since World War II. The 130-year-old memorial in honor of the Confederate General has been covered in graffiti since early June, as protests and social unrest gripped Richmond and the nation after the death of George Floyd in Minneapolis, Minnesota ”- Richmond NewsPoem with statues falling It was the summer that we took heads and toppled statues of despots & slaveholders from their shiny pedestals; elsewhere it tipped into the oily depths of the rivers It was the summer when we thanked the thousand thousand corpses that marched in the hearts of grieving, inflamed cities – how they brought courageous songs like & chants, painted &chalk, & light, to project the hopes we need to bind together so that we may become our own living, breathing monuments

grateful for the bend without breaking the branch under the weight of the finchlightboned They shook a fir tree to light up a sky for the earth after not freeing us from their embrace of their rivers The morning lies in the street where I want me to be bronzed with its pillows that people every day to strengthen something invisible and mighty together in my city for somewhere in the distance of the ocean that calls out like an answer to a grace that speaks for someone who returns to the one who threw it from where it had been p>

In the fire season, the soft smoke of hard rain rains through tree bones The hissing and steam of the extinguished fire – the root of the flame, the gray ash sludgeRain tap on your hat Rain glovesRain makes your fur heavy, your neck coldRain washed what seared, weeded out where fire fed, rain offered rest, restorationRain turns eye salt into streams, streams into rivers in which many cry as oneThe rain penetrated deep into the earth and searched for seedsRain takes its own sweet timeThe thirst of the earth for the first rain – never to be cursed again

The pandemic is putting pressure on love and providing a new playground for fearLove is learning to teach our sons art, math and reading It cooks three meals a day and works remotely under the microscope of mutual gaze.Without tying up, we click on graphics, diagrams, photos, shape testimonies of the sick, dead and survivors and tell our fears.The metaphor stops when we check the data and we can Find no beauty there Love reaches out to each other just to find our scars relaxed Within these walls we have food, resources and each other – the first real test for love and fear

When asked what I am grateful for, I am grateful for friends, for the range of Nebraska unsets, for my family who are still alive, thank goodness, thank you to the Med Center (UNMC) that has this flood (until now ) Despite my choice withholding the negligence of the representatives, grateful for my Hawaiian-printed face mask, for that red sofa I commute to work, grateful not to work at UNMC, at a middle school, a rural highway packing plant, a Harley dealer in the Sand Hills, which means that I am grateful, terrible, for the luck of this landing, for the bullet that hits next to me, the guilt that goes with my this vast heavenly silence after every step

Thanksgiving, 2020 On North Dakota’s crumpled, ironed plain, a climb or hill can be a memorial commemorating Golgotha, Zion’s reign, with three crosses crowning the tent

Buttes, emblems of renewal and maybe moreOn other hills and mesas metal monstersProfessor’s broken neck – threshing machines, a score or more, tokens to combine bankers sponsor,

your computer antics overseen by a farmer released from the work his father generations failed before 2020; Double poles of the Dakota spirit:

Faith and work Between the two, in every village, in every community, on every town hall stage – drama, dance, sad comedy, trumpet on the joint art act, an exercise in love and praise

Thank you, with Northern Lights, Minnesota, from Main Streetto Highway 61, from Paisley Parkto Park Rapids, we are grateful for the snow that comes from canadacovering over the leaves we did not rake and how sometimes afterwards

Getting a heatwave and a second chance to fix things so we can meet our friends in a park and enjoy being together (safe) We feel so happy that we have our biggest smile behind ours Masks smile and our eyes pucker and shine like the elusive northern lights

Last paint left in Missouri Today I passed a stand of trees: tall, tightly packed, bare and almost black from the rain.But underneath I saw smaller trees that were just beginning to slowly catch in the sky, and I saw these Still golden and glowing like campfires in the dark, lately I’ve wanted a little light – and there it was, and all I had to do was turn my gaze a few degrees off center.Some blessings will find us when we move to them – they are just waiting to be seen, may we see the light towards the end of a difficult year as we breathe in the prayer of prayer: show me, show me, show me

The Blessings of WyomingWyoming residents are grateful that they have spared much of the suffering. We enjoyed fresh air in the open air, roamed freely through vast meadows, massive mountains carved by nature, furrowed deep canyons and valleys that Were sewn together by icy streams We watched herds of mountains that ruled elk and prairie pronghorn Every new day was a gift Even the drought and the wind couldn’t dry our minds Board games, puzzles and books became important again We looked after the neighbors and the neighbors despite large Distance Helped We have nurtured our faith and valued more family time We reached out to old friends to help us become even more aware of the people and natural blessings of Wyoming

Thank you – for red cardinals popping up everywhere, for violets, flawless and delicate, and tall white oaks that carry the weight of the Midwestern winds that sweep across the Prairie State Thank you for kissing Great Lake Michigan on a Big Chicago, full-bodied and full of promise Thank you for the lakes and rivers flowing through a state of dreams and blood and tears Thin rivers of labor that cord the land And a Big River, Mississippi, that runs Thank you so much for the industry in the midst of the cities For rural locations that love tractors And train stations that are populated with people of all kinds All colors One in the land of Lincoln Raise freedom, union, yes We pray for one another In all of our broken hearts, we thank you for hope, for the family, for the loved ones and for the neighbors For “I love you” Written on the red wings of the cardinals, on the sweet petals of the violets, on the strong brown branches of the oaks, we thank you and thank you

Thank you

World News – USA – Verses vs. Virus: What these poet winners are grateful for