Life Poems / Poetry


Year after year,
my mother and I
would prepare
a feast the day before.

We’d make cheese cake,
apple pie, pumpkin pie,
horn bread, green bean casserole,
mashed potatoes, yams, dressing,
and so much more.

Her and I would be up
until the sun peaked in
the kitchen windows.
I’d clean the floor by hand,
then sleep until noon.

The house smelled of
a basted turkey
and warm yams.
Family friends,
would gather in our
southern California home.

Each talking to one another
before the feast began,
then all you heard was
clinking of forks against
the plates.

Happy Thanksgiving!


2 thoughts on “Thanksgiving

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