Cut me a piece of pecan pie
and squirt some Reddi-wip on it
and I’ll tell you why I love
Thanksgiving
so much in spite
of all the family bitterness
passed around the table
along with the gravy boat.   

I love Thanksgiving
so much because
I find it remarkable
that such ill-tempered
I-need-a-drink,
resentfully jealous,
morally suspect
people can contribute
incredibly delicious
secret-ingredient
dishes to a potluck
that never fails
to satisfy.   

Aunty Lee, she of the five husbands,
sets a fine table though
the silver may be hot
and she gripes
that she can’t use her best linens because
over the years they’ve been
stained beyond repair
by tobacco juice
oozed  from the pores of men
and sometimes women
seated round the table.  

Left-over love seeps from the food
they bring to the table.
And we, voraciously empty, eat of it
until we’ve had our fill.  

That’s why I eat your pecan pie.
That’s why I love Thanksgiving.