Alongside the passing dishes, the casserole, the pie

My plate holds missing memories, of stress, of grief, of sighs

Perfect porcelain china that we see just once a year

Pretty decorations that hide both pride and tears

My plate holds conversations of loosened family ties, of people that we once held dear, and now have to leave behind

I balance my politeness like the food groups on my plate

Carbs heavy like the questions as they ask about my latest failing date

But on top of everything I add a little grace

because even despite it all, my plate is giving thanks

My family gathers. Generations of moms and daughters bustle in the kitchen, sharing recipes, cackling about the latest family drama.

Men and children sit by the fire. The game is on. Children play and dream of the mound of mashed potatoes soon to be theirs!

Not all family members are here. Some are too far away. Some have passed on. We laugh and guffaw at the happy memories with a sprinkling of sadness and loss. Always thankful for the memories we have.

Time to eat. Everyone rushes to the table, cackling moms bringing out the last of the dishes. The man of the house drills through the roasted beast. Tasty familiar accompaniments are shoveled on to plates. It's a symphony of clink and clank as the polished silverware forks the good China.

My plate is empty. No glutenous sustenance for me. No. There are only memories on my plate. One empty plate in front of one empty chair. Frequent glances to my plate by my beloved family sparking more stories, more laughs, more grief. They think of me. They remember me. They are sad, but thankful for the memories.

Through the kitchen archway comes the sound of laughter and plates being set upon the table,

The smell of ham and gravy spilling throughout the house as the dogs play on the carpet,

Setting the cry of hunger and love upon my stomach and heart,

The light glows through the windows,

Out into the world,

And we give thanks for the world around us in a way that is both ours and others,

The ham,

The cranberry sauce,

The mashed potatoes and gravy,

The Corn,

And the people around the table,

This is us,

This is who we want to be,

This is family,

And this is the thanks we give.

Balancing

my family with

my boyfriend with

their expectations with

my happiness next to

a slice of turkey and

two carrots and

a potato and

home

I'll be going to a couple different gatherings throughout the day between my folks and my in-laws but here what we're looking at:

For breakfast, a healthy dose of piousness and with some sides of ignorance to that one time Papa used a racial slur. That said, there's usually some sweet treats that highlight the importance of graceful aging and self-investment.

Lunch is kind of a mixture. The step-aunts and uncles tend to bring some poorly-seasoned sentiments. Their children will bring little, but leave with heaping plates. Hubby and I will probably bring some pre-packaged sensibilities and claim they're homemade just to ruffle Step-nana's country fluffed feathers. The original grandkids occasionally stir a pot of sweet and sour puckish delights. Everyone brings their own variation of avoidance.

But as for dinner, your initial question:

With my family, there's usually a main course of repression. Plentiful sides of bitterness and denial are paired with carefully carved generational grudges dressed with meddlesome behavior and stuffed with unresolved trauma. This will likely be the heaviest meal of the day, so I'm glad that this is at the end. I try not to put too much on my plate here, but tend to have more leftovers than I want or need. My husband tries to skip this meal as he says my family are terrible chefs. I don't disagree, but it gets harder to come up with new reasons for his absence every year. Politeness only goes so far, especially when unreciprocated.

OH. You meant...like, actual food. I don't know...probably turkey and some mac and cheese? Green bean casserole, sweet potato mash. My grandma makes a pretty mean potato salad, though her taste buds died years ago so she's just winging it at this point. Might keep the salt and pepper on the table just in case.

potato filling.

it was my grandfather's recipe.

all the ingredients of turkey stuffing;

celery, bread crumbs, onion,

mixed with mashed potatoes.

this is

our first thanksgiving without him

and my mother is making

potato filling.

and i know

she's thinking about him again.

Xyra turned the key into the lock of her studio. She entered the room and was struck with the smell of singed wood. The room was as she left it, but the atmosphere was off. She crouched down, pulled a dagger from her boot, and slowly stepped across the plush crimson carpeting. She cast the curtain by her reading table back and was greeted by the table and two empty chairs tucked neatly beneath it. As she moved further into the room, the smell grew stronger. She continued, finally reaching the makeshift quarters she'd created in the back room of her shop. Still she saw nothing.

A lamp clicked on behind her. She whipped around, ready to thrust her blade into the figure behind her. A firm hand wrapped around her wrist and stopped the blade from entering his neck. She was eye level with a gold and ruby medallion, emblazoned with an unsettlingly familiar crest. She looked up and locked eyes with the intruder. Disgusted, she ripped her hand from his grasp and stepped backward.

"What are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your father?"

"You've got nerve coming here. This entire block is under regular patrol. You're wanted by every division possible."

"My reach is vast. As is my ability to travel unseen."

"What do you want?"

Atreus Heddingbone took his daughter by the hand, mulling over the intricacies of her gloves. "My. I haven't seen these in many years. Your mother had quite the eye, didn't she?"

"What would you remember of her?"

"Much. And with fondness." He gestured to her gloves once more. "Those are made of Chimeric leather. Have you never wondered why the material was so unique? Or where or how she got it?"

Atreus raised a thin, angular hand and fiddled with the frayed, curled ends of her dreadlocked hair. Xyra shuddered to think that this was a touch her mother once revered, that she craved. A touch that even as she faded into the lonesome darkness, she remembered fondly- if not through words, then through demeanor. The Hell Circles had ravaged the human realms, burned them to the ground. Enslaved those who were unfortunate enough to exist in fronts and footholds. Starsun City was the epicenter. And still, no harsh words of their kind were to be spoken. Xyra was to refer to them only as they were, no embellishments, no opinions. Her grandmother muttered obscenities underneath her breath at the mere sight of a horn or claw, but even after illness came and went, Xyra could not bring herself to disrespect her mother's wishes. Through the mere consequence of birth, she was tied to her torturers and isolated from salvation, bound by features she could not hide. Atreus's pointed nails scraped along Xyra's matted hair, catching gently on the bronze adornments carefully wrapped around each lock. Paternal comforts were three decades and two incidents too late. She shifted backward, her hip-length hair slipping through dry, bony, blood-red fingers.

"I asked you a question."

"Fine. I see you're not one for sentiment. You're more demon than you'd like to claim, child."

"I'm not a child."

Atreus gave her a thin-lipped smirk. "No, I suppose you're not. You look like your mother did when she was your age. With some of my features, of course."

"Make your point and leave."

"Shall we have a seat?" Atreus gestured toward the empty seats of Xyra's tarot reading table. Reluctantly, Xyra walked over the table and pulled out a chair. She sat face to face with her father, twirling the handle of the dagger within her right hand.

"Blade on the table please, Xyra." Xyra bit the inside of her cheek and stabbed her dagger into the wood of the table defiantly.

"There. On the table."

Atreus' face washed over with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. His golden eyes lingered on the dagger for a moment, and then were casted back onto his daughter. "I come to you as both a father and a diplomat."

"I have no need for either."

"You will. There are changes coming, Xyra. The Hell Circle is a proud community. We are leaders, warriors. We are not meant to be tagged, recorded, and regulated. It is our destiny, our birthright to rule."

"What a surprise. Another demon bitter about the war."

"It's more than bitterness, my child. It's about correcting the mistakes of the past."

"And my mother? She was a mistake of the past?"

Atreus' face softened. "Your mother was special."

Xyra scoffed. "Special. Right."

"There comes a time when one must choose between pleasure and duty. It brought me no joy to do what I did. I have thought about the both of you for many years."

"Are you saying you don't take pleasure in power? Or are you saying that seducing and impregnating a human woman was just another Tuesday?"

Atreus drummed his pointed nails atop the carved wood impatiently. "Xyra, I am here to serve both a warning and an opportunity. The Hell Circles are restless. There are happenings that are unavoidable. And it is too great a force to stop. Your choices are this: come with me and take your rightful place within the bloodline or fall with the inferior beings you've chosen as allies."

"And if I refuse? What's to stop me from telling everyone?"

"No one will believe you. The institutions that oversee the Hell Circle are overconfident in their competency. And as far as the government knows, I died in the Stenton Street conflict. Those who speak out will be silenced. Marked as bigots or handled appropriately by the proper forces. You cannot stop the natural cascade of events."

"Sounds like you're the one overconfident in your competency. It didn't work the first time. You think this will be any different?"

Atreus chuckled softly. "You really are your mother's daughter. Though a Heddingbone at your core." He rose to his feet, and gently pushed his chair beneath the table. He pulled the dagger from the wood and laid it in front of his daughter.

"Remember what I've told you, Xyra. The signs will be there. Sooner than later." Atreus pushed the velvet curtain to the side and stepped toward the doorway of the studio. Xyra leapt up to follow him and pushed back the curtain to find he'd already disappeared. She ensured the door was locked, and walked wearily to her cot in the back room. She plopped her body onto the creaking framework, fully dressed and on top of the blankets. It was nearing midnight, and the Captain was expecting her in the early hours, but all she could do was stare hopelessly at the ceiling.

There’s one day a year, families come in to enjoy their company & an over filled plate.

We have turkey & Stuffing made with sage, fake smiles & secret competition to see whose family’s more great.

Mashed potatoes & gravy, rather buttering bread, they butter each other up to have someone on their side for political debates.

I love the rutabaga, it’s my favorite & I enjoy every bite while I watch it be avoided like I avoid The cousins with uncunning traits.

They love green bean casserole, it’s full of cheese, ritz, add in jealousy over stories of the pretend lives they create.

Some try the spaghetti squash, it’s savory & sweet, not like the brother-in-law who uses people to pump up an ego that he needs to inflate.

I can’t forget the corn, that’s a staple food, salted & peppered with a dash of the aunts in the kitchen whispering about their daily complaints.

My husband & I adore the pumpkin pie, two slices apiece that we take to the kids table, the adults & we just don’t relate.

Carrots and parsnips are shining in butter

Great gorgeous hams, oh if I'd have my druthers!

Wonderful tenderloins tied up with string

These are a few of my favorite things...

When the cold bites!

When the knees ache!

When I'm feeling sad...

I simply remember the season is nigh

And then I don't feel so bad!

Taters and stuffing on trivets of fancy

Wonderful sauces are catered by Nancy

Great golden goblets are sparkling with cheer

Please my good man would you pour me a beer!

When the wind blows!

When my stocks crash!

When I'm feeling mad...

I simply remember the season is nigh

And then I don't feel so bad!

Velvety gravies that make my mouth water

Show me that turkey, I'll tear it asunder

I see a pumpkin pie topped with whipped cream

Oh, mother pinch me this must be a dream!

When the brakes fail!

When the babes wail!

When I lose my hat!

I simply remember the season is nigh

And then I don't feel so bad!

I will forever be thankful for the turkey,

nestled beside macaroni and cheese and yams.

The kitchen too, smelling of sweet and salty food,

high in flavor but low in nutrients.

The feeling when a big sliver spoon plops fresh dinner rolls on my plate,

Ready to gobble it all down,

just to continue this cycle and stuff myself with seconds all over again.