We ran and jumped, refused
to be still. Mom yelled from the stove, sliced
her finger again. Brother barreled through
on the wings of a storm as papers and napkins plummet to the floor.
The turkey aroma wafts through the door, pelting my senses
just like before. Cajun, garlic, pepper, and is that

Thanksgiving is hectic, now that I can see.
People swirl and twirl through the room
like a breeze. They tease and snort,
hum and scream. I watch them perform, dance
straight through the chores. Peel the potatoes, stir the beans,
check on the gravy, you know dad doesn’t like peas.

Now we have grown and live miles apart,
but every Thanksgiving brings back that old spark.
Our voices echo and our hoots soar. We gather together
under one roof once more.

So what, you may ask, am I thankful for? The clatter and chatter
of those I hold dear. The banging of pans and shouts of defeat.
The mishaps that come again every year. I cling
to the smiles, live for the noise, savor the chaos and all that it brings.

Thanksgiving has come, and I can’t be more pleased. My family’s
together; we’re laughing and singing
and planning a feast. In this moment, I am home.
There’s no other place I’d rather be.


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