Thanksgiving is clash of good food and good people.
Silver flashes and the turkey is cut.
Juice drizzles from the cut.
Fluffy rolls are smothered in butter,
A doctor’s nightmare.
Tart, spicy cranberry scent weaves and tangos with the pumpkin pie smell.
I was afraid dear grandmother’s perfume would dominate the dance but it hasn’t.
Hot cider gets passed around followed by gravy.
My stomach grumbles and it is time to eat.
The food melts in my mouth like ice cream.
Now the TV blares after our belts are feeling tight.
They’re already advertising for Christmas. How absurd is that!
Cards, crisp and white, are shuffled and laid
As Father and Daughter pull the wishbone
Snap! The daughter wins
As the cat chews the shattered bone
Father takes another piece of that good old pumpkin pie
The tap of my grandmother’s cane echoes in my head as she leaves to return to her resting home.
Mother wipes the table.
Then we settle down with leftovers and hope that they are just as good cold and a few hours old then hot and fresh