Disclaimer: This is something I wrote in fourth grade for a school assignment, (the assignment was to write from the perspective of a turkey trying to convince people not to eat them for Thanksgiving.) I stumbled on it and thought it was perfect and rather funny for this challenge. I decided not to edit it or anything, so excuse all the rhetorical questions and exlcamation points.

Dear humans,

I am only a turkey, but hear me out before you eat me, and I daresay you’ll change your mind! I’m not as good as other meat, I can assure you. Why not try beef or chicken? Maybe pork? They are delicious, not me! I promise you, I don’t lie! Are you going to argue? Well fine. But keep in mind that in 2012, chicken, beef, and pork were all chosen over turkey. I would change your Thanksgiving menu if I were you. Plus, I swear that I will make you tired, so don’t even bother denying it. My secret weapon is tryptophan, a hormone in my body that makes people sleepy. You’re probably thinking, so what? I don’t care if I’m tired, but listen to this: do you really want to miss out on your Thanksgiving feast, (which I think would taste great without turkey, y'know), games with your family, and catching up with friends, all because you’re exhausted? I didn’t think so! Anyway, how would you feel if some random person ate you? My guess is not so good. Wait, did I say I’m guessing you wouldn’t feel so happy? I know you wouldn’t feel happy. How do I know that? Because I am that turkey! It’s terrible to be eaten and know you’re going to be eaten. My cousin Herb was eaten and it was not pleasant, I tell you. And turkeys don’t even get to live that long! Wait, just a minute, you think they do get to live long? Wrong! Five to six months, our typical farm raised lifespan, and you are calling it long?! My, my, my. So, do you still want to eat me? Well, I’ll give you another fun fact to argue with! About 45 million turkeys are killed every year for Thanksgiving and I might be one of them. Do you seriously want us turkeys to go extinct because you rude humans kill us off for food when there is so much other meat, but you simply must have us poor, poor turkeys? I sincerely hope that you consider what I have written and make sure you don’t eat us. But please don’t worry though, I’ll always be ready to accept your apology!

From,

Your desperate friend the turkey

I don't have family.

Well, I do, but I don't want to be around them. They are so pushy and nosy about my life. I just don't enjoy our time together.Which is why, when they called and asked me about Thanksgiving, I was inclined to say no.

I had friends to be with anyway. My mother would just take all day cooking the turkey, while my dad and uncle watched the game. My aunt and my sister would argue over politics and religion while my cousin would sit and play his switch. Grandma would just sit and try to pull the family together, but she would be just as miserable.

So I'm not going. What would I do? I normally end up helping my Grandma keep the family from falling apart. Its so much to do. Even she would complain about it.

She did always love my sweet potato pie though. She would say it was the best she ever tasted, while everyone else grumbled over their meal. She would try to play games with the others but in the end it was just me and her. We would play cards and laugh, while my dad and uncle tried to shush us. Grandma would make a comment about having to listen to them growing up, and went on laughing and talking to me.

She would ask me about my job and my life. She loved that I was in graphic design. When I would show her my work, she would smile and tell me I was a professional.

You know, the longer I thought about the Thanksgiving meal, my family pushed me away. But the one person who made me want to stay, was my Grandma. She supported me. She loved spending time with me.

So despite the fights, the shouting, the work, and the exhaustion of the day, I think it's worth it just to hear Grandma say, "I love you, dear. Thank you for spending time with me. Your Grandpa would be proud of you too."

I think I will go this year, for my Grandma. Her need for me is greater than my annoyance of the family. We've only got so much time.

football

cranberry sauce

that sketch uncle you've met twice before

leaves falling

sweet potatoes

excessively large turkey balloons

but it's so much more than that

all the sacrifices

all the miracles

all the hard work

from our ancestors

made this possible.

so, instead of just stuffing a turkey leg in your mouth

or chucking a football at your little brother's face

think about all the people who put you at that table.

your parents, your grandparents, and so many more people created this future for you

and even if it's just one day a year,

be greatful.

“He smells bad,” the sour-faced child snivels. A chocolate milk mustache sullies her upper lip.

If dogs could roll their eyes, Alfred’s would’ve seen his own saggy eyebrows. Call him smelly? If only she knew how rank her body was. From hairy head to sweaty toes, it was a bouquet of unpleasant odors. The mother had tried to smear and swath the stenches away with manufactured deodorants and shampoos, but Alfred’s nose wasn’t deceived. If anything, the stew of mixed odors was even worse.

“You could give him a bath,” the stout shelter worker offers. Her round face smiles, squeezing her eyes into crescents. “Wouldn’t that be fun? Giving your own dog a bath?”

The girl aims her petulant face upward and pinches it into a tight scowl. “Mo-om, I don’t want a smelly old dog. Where’s the puppies?”

The mother’s glands produce a sulfurous scent--the scent of anxiety. “Do you have any puppies available?” she asks. “We were thinking something just ready to be adopted in time for Christmas next month.”

“Are you sure you don’t want Alfred?” the shelter worker implores. “He’s waited so long for a home.”

“We’re sure,” the mother insists as a wail emerges from the girl’s mouth.

They leave, the wail tapering into silence. Except for occasional visitors and feeding times, Alfred’s world is made up of silence.

It didn’t used to be though. He used to have a home, a family. It was just the two of them, Alfred and Sonja. Sonja smelled of lemon tea and cocoa butter. They took walks at sunset and she would throw the ball.... But then she got too old for that. So they stayed inside and Sonja would caress his ears and tell him he was handsome. But then she got too old for that. And then one day the smell of lemon tea and cocoa butter withered away, and the next, he was discarded.

Huffing, he collapses onto his side. He’s beginning to accept this as home. His cold-steeled, hard-floored, humdrum home. The bell on the front door chimes. Another visitor looking for puppies.

He ignores the soft voices that speak, the light footsteps that approach… him? The door swings, stirring up a mild breeze. Alfred’s nose twitches; a memory triggers.

The world had turned brown and chilled. Darkness comes early these nights. But Sonja frolicks through the bright kitchen, chopping and whisking a cacophony of delectibles while the pots steam cheerily. Alfred observes from a comfortably tattered rug. The scent of roast turkey marinates the air and titillates every taste bud.

The visitor peers into Alfred’s kennel; the aroma of turkey strengthens. “Well aren’t you a looker?” the man’s timbre voice croons.

Unbidden, Alfred rises to his feet, tail shimmying in an almost-forgotten way. The man crouches and unlatches the kennel door. Alfred snuffles at his beard, and the scent of the roast bird mingles with the scent of happiness. Gratitude flows from his nose down to his wagging tail.

not enough seats

up to the attic for more

stiff and cold

of sawdust and a lonely floor

behind the creates

of the holiday decore

lay the tables and folds

you dragged them to the door

but then-- behind the sheets

a glint you couldn’t ignore

come closer the tarnished gold

seemed to implore

no desire for a thanksgiving feast

when you saw the open door

it was wooden, dark, and old

your mind begged for more

you stepped closer, feeling stuffy heat

you felt no hesitation, nor

fear of the threshold

for two letters, the golden handle bore

mysteriously etched of deceit

there your initials were adorned

what happened next was left untold

of what you saw beyond that door

After all the family had cleared out and the plethora of dishes had been washed up, there was the exact right amount of leftovers for a turkey bowl. That perfect compliation of meat, potatoes, vegetables and gravy. It's a bowl full of delicious remnants from the great feast. The flavors complimenting each other so well as they take up all the space in your cheeks.

I lovingly tucked the containers away in the fridge and went to bed dreaming of the best next day dish.

The construction and consumption was all I had hoped it would be. I smiled between bites, senses all a glow. I was giving myself a silent pat on the bat for the ratio of ingredients. I was actually sad when the last bite was devoured, realizing it would be another year before this opportunity presented itself again.

I was still wallowing a few hours until I was overcome with chills and an aggressively rumbling stomach. I was running to the toilet before I could even question the reason why I needed to be so swift in my departure from the couch. My entire body heaved violently and repeatedly for hours. Even my hair hurt as I pulled it back out of my face. Every morsel and then some of the coveted leftover bowl was flushed away; presented to me again but with absolutely no appeal.

Inbetween the moments of wishing death was just after the next round of upchuck, I pondered the reason for this unfortunate turn of events. I had every single one of these foods not even 24 hours ago.

Then, I realized I had not had corn and opened a new can as the ideal addition to my masterpiece this afternoon.

Turns out, and what a time to learn new information, dented cans can let in air that creates toxic bateria knows as Clostridium botulinum. All I had wanted was one heavenly Thanksgiving leftover bowl and ended up getting botilism. I had been so thankful for the supersized meal that afforded me the opportunity for leftovers but now, I was only thankful for a bathroom door that locked and activated charcoal.

All this should have been enough to prevent me from ever even thinking about attempting this cuisine in the future but it is just so divine that the soul craves it. From now, just to be safe, I'll go sans corn.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen...uhhh...fourteen, five...fi...fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenteen! Ready or not, here I come!"

Jill runs around the yard and one for one she finds all four of the other children.

"IT IS NOT FAIR! You did not even count correctly!" Her twin, Jim, argues for he was the first to be found.

"I did!"

"No, you didn't!"

"Did!"

"Not!"

"Did!"

"Not!"

"Okay, okay, you two. Let us not argue today. Phil and I will count and try to find all of you. How does that sound?" Kitty interjects.

"No."

Everyone turns to Carl.

"And why not?" Phil inquires.

"If ya two are lookin' fur us togethe', then we are goin' to hide the whole day."

"And why do you say that?" Phil asks again.

"'Cause yer lovebirds. That's why."

Phil stares at the calm Carl in disbelief, Kitty blushes, and the twins giggle.

"Fine. Since Carl was trying to be funny, he can count and come looking for us." Phil smiles.

"I don' care. Luck'ly, ya'll won't hide too long."

"And as an extra measure of punishment, count till a hundred."

Carl glares at Phil before turning to the wall to count.

"One..."

The twins scamper away and climbs in behind the large bush.

"...Ten..."

Meanwhile, Phil grabbed Kitty's hand and led her to the treehouse's ladder. They climb up and Kitty wants to enter the house, but Phil stops her. He gestures that she should follow him as he carefully climbs past the little house and sits down on a well concealed branch.

"...Ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred. I'm comin'!"

Phil and Kitty laugh softly when Carl walks right underneath them without realizing it. The boy stops and looks up into Kitty's brown eyes.

"What?" The girl whispers when she notices it.

"Just admiring your beauty."

Kitty blushes and looks down.

"It is true." Phil puts a stray stand of her hair behind her ear.

"You are very flattering, sir, but we must be quiet."

"Why? He will probably spend hours looking for us."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive, my dear Kitty."

"My dear Kitty?" Kitty smiles.

"Yeah. Do you object to the name?"

"I don't mi..."

"Phil and Kitty sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

Startled, the two look down to see the twins and Carl looking back at them.

"Found ya, by the way!"

"Ohhhh. Take a hike!" Phile sneers at them.

"If mother sees you, Phil, you are going to be in big trouble!" Jill yells at her older brother.

"She is not here, but she will be if you continue yelling like that!"

"Yes, she will. Unfortunately, I am already here."

Phil eyes grow wide at the sight of his mother and Kitty's face turns even redder.

"Fortunately, I am going to let it slide as long as you and Kitty are out of that tree and at the table in two minutes. Lunch is getting cold."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Having been gone a year,

I transported there to here.

I’d called friends so they’d go

meet me at the bus depot.

I missed Dad by a bit,

off on a short business trip.

I got home, found the key,

let me in, replete with glee.

My mom called from her work,

and I answered, full of perk.

“Rae Nellie?” questioned she,

“She’s in Europe, I’m Sallie.”

“Oh, Rae, now … that is you!

What on earth? Can it be true?”

Mom got home … right away,

passed the limit on that day!

One by one, my surprise

met with startled, joyous cries!

Got a flat for my beau

who was still in Monaco.

I then served customers

food they ordered to ensure

he could join me stateside

where we planned to co-reside.

But a man caught my eye,

an American to try.

I had to disimbue

my love so a call ensued

my covenant to quit.

One thing became explicit.

Though fate caused us to meet,

fate had caused us both to cheat.

What relief as we learned

neither one would now be burned!

I sublet right away

the apartment to friend Gaye.

She was shunned quietly

where we worked. That I could see.

Presently, Thanksgiving

found Gaye, lone and harsh, living

in that pad. I reached out.

Mom and I without a doubt

packed a meal for her sake.

Piled high remnants on a plate.

We packed loads. Not just food.

We added a festive mood.

She was glad we stopped by!

Moving Thanksgiving … Oh, my!