My uncle had this joke he'd say at the end of the prayer, just before everyone stuffed themselves to the point of lethargic comas. He'd say, "Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, whoever eats the fastest, gets the most!". I liked that about my uncle, he always told the corniest jokes.
Thanksgiving, in the past few years, hasn't been all that jocular or familial lately. Prayer is marked by underlying tension as my grandmother's papery grip tightens when thanks ends without mention of my aunt or uncle.
Since my grandma has been moved into the center, our family has rapidly separated. My cousin Kate and I used to have sleepovers every other weekend. Now, if we're lucky, we speak but once every other month. However, this separation was not caused by our parent's feud, merely our own busy schedules.
My mother often talks of her sister and her brother as if they were some indistinguishable faces who had caused her personal harm. Mere hours after a dispute, my father and I would patiently sit and listen to my mother tell us how worthless and how uncompromising they really were.
Thanksgiving these days is now something I approach with cautious apprehension. I have learned not to side with anyone whom my parents disagree with. So this Thanksgiving day I will quietly chop carrots and slide them into a bowl while my mother jokes about how he said this, and she didn't do that.
"Something would have gone awry anyway, _______, be glad they're not here to upset grandma. God knows how long she's got left."
YOU ARE READING
Revelations
PoetryIt was really me. It was really you. There was really nothing we could do. To put it concisely, these are short, philosophical situations, feelings, and thoughts of different persons and personalities I've encountered.
