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Tradition
by Kristina Woodhill
We are the turkeys
stuffed to our wattles,
flightless by end of day,
heavy on
grandma's potatoes and gravy,
giddy from
jam on aunt Jane's tender rolls,
piled high as
whipped-creamed pie,
gobbling surrender,
our hollow bones echoing
the clatter of utensils
on china plates
empty as the eyes and bellies
under the old south bridge
11/28/2015 Posted on 11/28/2015
Copyright © 2025 Kristina Woodhill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/28/15 at 07:17 PM Great seasonal capture, Kristina. Love the surprise but serious ending...so true. Here in Ottawa, we are fortunate to have some organizations that give out free turkey dinners to the needy...homeless. By the poem, trust you had a good one |
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