Xinjiang's First Thanksgiving: A Poem

 
Once upon a time, in a land far to China’s west

where camels did roam and merchants had passed,

where a living was made with the cattle and soil

and no one yet cared for that ugly black oil,

Two cultures collided who shared nothing the same

not music, not language nor deities they claimed.

To celebrate these differences the leaders declared

that they had arranged this fictitious affair.

A large feast was planned and everyone invited

“Bring Your Own Meat” was the theme they decided.

The natives brought lamb and fruit and flat bread

And thankfully the Chinese didn’t cook that pig head.

The locals came wearing all their colorful clothes

surprised at the dull coats their visitors chose.

When Muslim men knelt on the prayer rugs they took

the Chinese read lines from Mao’s little red book.

All raised their glass for the evening toast

The natives said “Welcome” like any good host.

“We’re happy to meet you” the Chinese replied,

“And there’s many more coming on their way from Shanghai”.

The rest is just history, or that’s what I’m told

This friendly beginning has turned somewhat cold.

Now not quite a model of harmonious living

At least we can reminisce about Xinjiang’s first Thanksgiving

by: Josh Summers