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