Thanksgiving Reflections


I shall begin with white vapor, billowing from the open oven, spreading the scent of onion, sage and melting fat. The room, still brittle cold, the clean kitchen counters and tools all in a row. I shall touch the knife, cold and gleaming. Its edge sharp and biting, like new grief. I shall note the early morning glare through the window, revealing the streaks and smudges of yesterday’s cleaning, the breathless quiet before the rest of the house awakens, the too-good-to-be-true promise of a perfect day. Did I...

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