 In Memory of my Beautiful MotherOur kitchen was always, such ,a busy place on Thanksgiving Day As Mother prepared a bountiful feast to celebrate this holiday She would baste the turkey with herbs and with spices And cut the cranberry sauce into dainty round slices While the oven boasted aromas of a medley of dishes From a potpourri of foods that smelled so delicious Our table was adorned, with a fancy white linen cloth And Mother made her homemade gravy, from the turkey's broth As it simmered in the pot, with the heat down on low She'd arrange the silverware in a tidy neat row Sitting a plate and a glass in front of every chair For each of the guests, who would be dining with us there And, I, just a girl; would watch for my brothers and their wives Peering out of the window, to see who'd be the first to arrive While Daddy wandered into the kitchen,his eyes twinkling with delight Hoping to catch Mother not looking, so he could steal a bite And back at the window, someone would be pulling up the drive Excited, I'd rush to see who was the first to arrive Then with a rap at the door and a gust of cold blustery wind Our door blew open, my brother and his wife walked in Baring hearty Thanksgiving greetings, as they hung up their cloaks And we'd settle into the family room, as we reminisced and joked After my oldest brother arrived, it appeared everyone was there And we'd gather 'round the table, taking a place behind our chair Dad helped Mom with the turkey, which they proudly held up and boast This plump juicy bird that was golden and brown like toast And the table, it was spread with a variety of things For Mother had prepared a feast, fit for a king There was cornbread stuffin, yams, and green beans Rolls fresh from the oven, piping hot with steam A bowl of mash potatoes, fluffy white in a mound Sitting next to a boat of gravy,creamy, rich, and brown There was a basket of bread, and rolls that lay in warm buttery streams And a golden pumpkin pie topped with whip cream Standing at the table with mom, my brother, and their wives We'd watch Dad cut the turkey with his carving knives After each of us fixed our plates from this array Of food that sat upon the dining room buffet We'd sit down at the table and catch up with each other Listening to old stories told by dad and my mother And my brothers would tell their plans for the upcoming year Preparing for a new baby or a change in career After dessert was over and we had each cleaned our plate We'd head to the family room and continue to conversate Building our bonds as we came together on this special day To share a family Thanksgiving, the old fashioned way. (c)copyright 2006 all rights reserved. Thanksgiving Poems The Poetic Seasons Of My Soul |