Thanksgiving, 1991

Mother stroked and I cried in the bathroom.

I was acting so strangely, trying not

 

to yell at the kids. But I did, and my sister

yelled at me. We did pull it together,

 

roasting the turkey and mashing potatoes.

There was gravy and the candied yams

 

she loved so much. The ones with 1/2 C. of brandy.

Don carved “the bird”, that’s what Mom called it.

 

And, we drank wine, toasting our mother who loved

her mashed potatoes and gravy. And her vino.

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