the trees’ white skeletons
when I close my eyes
This is as documentary as it gets: make the observation, take the photo, doctor the photo to imitate an afterimage. (But I had to get back and join the family, so the doctoring didn’t happen until the next day.)
It’s interesting to note that this haiku may appear to have slightly different politics than I do. Had it read “Halloween sky,” of course, the following image of white skeletons would be trite, but in association with Thanksgiving one thinks of the bones in a roast, or equally likely, how the holiday’s founding myth is a fig leaf for the genocidal actions of white settlers. While I don’t dispute this reality, I do tire of liberal virtue-signalling about it in social media year after year. White self-flagellation a la Robin DiAngelo seems to me nearly as problematic as unexamined racism, since it still centers the oppressors. And like independent journalist Matt Taibbi, I actually feel that Thanksgiving is awesome. But none of that matters, because this haiku has its own point-of-view, and all I needed to do was get out of the way.