Recipe

Everything before has come to this,

careful settings and a gracious banquet.

We spent the days laying out the plan: roast 

turkey dressed with sage, orange, cloves; sauteed

Brussels sprouts with red onion; bread dressing 

with sausage and thyme; rutabaga (mashed);

cranberry chutney evolved through years of 

family tables. Outside, wet leaves drape 

the earth in colors of roast turkey and 

sweet potatoes. Men gather at the screen

for sports, not news. We’ve had enough of that 

this year, we agree. Aunt brings the sweetened

casserole, different each year. Worries 

of her job, her health, children’s grades and their 

latest misbehaviors, all mask her pride 

in them. They smile indulgently, roll their 

eyes. Mum brings the maligned cream corn, not so 

bad really, but an object of myth. Her 

years of aches and pains are annual sides. 

Uncle brings jokes and cigars, bottle of 

bourbon this year (scotch last), he wears this last

year of age like ten or twenty. Grandma, 

grandpa, and ghosts of all who have made this 

table before evoke unexpected 

memories from the linen and grayed plates. 

At the table prayer is said, wine poured and 

turkey carved, the children dance like powdered

sugar. Thank You for this sacred chaos. 

Amen.


--c. 2011, by Martin A. Bartels (working draft)