2013 Thanksgiving Poem

This is Thanksgiving

I.
Four o’clock
I ring my parents’ doorbell
my dad answers
wearing a red, green and blue plaid shirt.

He hugs me
     his cheeks warm from the outdoors
takes the bowl of stuffing and says:
You missed it.  Your sister choked on a piece of pineapple
and your brother gave her the Heimlich.

I sigh; take off my jacket
as my dad brings the stuffing to my mom
in the kitchen.

I fail to notice
he has no pants on.

I am used to this.

II.
An hour later
Dad yells: Turkey’s done.  Come get a picture.
I walk out the back door
to where my dad stands
next to the Weber grill.

He ceremoniously takes the lid off
pretends to be surprised at how lovely
the crisp but tender bird looks.

Get closer, Stef.

He lifts the turkey off the grill.
I lean in and take a photo
and ten more after that.

This is Thanksgiving.

III.
I drink too much wine
as I sit at the table
and fill my plate.

I talk loudly.
I share too much.

My six year old nephew
plugs his ears
as my mom
runs from table to kitchen
kitchen to table.
She fills empty bowls.
She never sits down.

IV.
I know these are moments
I need to remember.
I’m thirty-four years old
and I’ve never missed
a Thanksgiving with these people.

Every year
pictures of the turkey are taken and Dad
runs around half dressed
for the first half of the holiday.

I drink too much wine
with my sister and Mom
circles us and keeps
me and my siblings close.

I tell you
this
is Thanksgiving.