I read this poem 25 years ago.  Now, I can find no reference to it anywhere, although I know it exists—I read it and more importantly, I have a copy of it.

Nevertheless, I present this poem, “Through a Train Window,” as a different way to look at Thanksgiving.  While many sit with bellies benumbed of too much food and drink, while many sit amidst friends and family with nary a thought to loneliness, while many sit in comfort and security sans any concern for the elements, and while many sit and put food to waste for too much had been prepared and served, what of this child, I ask, and all those like her?

hunger-eyed and sallow-cheeked
the child stared in at me
and I stared back — full-bellied
a vintage wine beside my plate
no despair showed on her face
none at least that I could see
just a trace of disbelief
that I ate there instead of she