I gave thanks only the once,

over a meal hosted by my grandmother’s

cousin in a small town near Philadelphia

and the small party of four, a second cousin

twice removed

and his wife both took a hand of mine

and prayed.

 

I was silent, but acknowledged their words

and I thought of home

as we sat in the heat

of a crowded restaurant,

the steam of the passable gravy

warming the inside of my nose

as I prepared to smother the turkey.