(From N. Y. Independent) Oh, it’s good to be a-livin’ W’en Thanksgivin’s ’bout to come, An’ ol’ mammy’s in de kitchen Jes’ a-mekin’ dishes hum! See dat tu’key in de cupboard, An’ dem pies all in a row, An’ dem cakes wid all deir icin’–– Why dey looks lak dey was snow! Uncle Eph’s done wash’d de winders, An’ li’ l’ Topsy’s scrubb’d de flo’; Mammy’s sent me once fur cidah, But she ’lowes she wants some mo’; And she ’lows she wants a ’possum, An’ she’ll have one––I’ll be boun,–– ’Cause it won’t be no Thanksgivin’ Dout a ’possum’s somewhar roun’ You kin have yo’ merry Chris’mas, An’ yo’ Fo’th Day uv July, An’ dat sad, sad day what teks us Whar de Union so’jers lie; But I’s one dat hyeah to tell you: Ef I had a right to speak, We’d jes’ celerbrate Thanksgivin’ ’Mos nigh evah othah week.
Even the parenthetical newspaper citation grounds this poem in lived ritual—Floyd charts every chore of a bustling Black household preparing Thanksgiving. The speaker’s voice relishes possum and cider as much as family company, arguing that gratitude is a rhythm worth repeating “’mos nigh evah othah week.” The poem lets the reader decide whether that dream is nostalgia or a blueprint for abundance. Interpretation written with assistance from ChatGPT.
Interpretation generated with assistance from Claude.