Through the kitchen window pines stand black,
Tall and black against gray dawn, and within
A single light falls yellow on the cutting board,
Yellow on the flashing knife, yellow on the onions
And the celery, cut crosswise and buried in the
Crumbled bread with giblets finely minced,
Half a bright red pepper, sage and thyme and
Parsley. Salt and Pepper. Rich broth simmers
Beyond the puddled light, beyond the open turkey
Waiting to be stuffed. Deep in the house
Sleepers wait, hours from awakening,
Only two this year, and the bird a
Scant ten pounds. Not half what it once was.
Three hours will roast the bird today but
The knife works to an old schedule, set for
A fuller house. An adjustment is needed, but
The knife remembers bigger birds, and chops,
Hesitates, falters long moments for sleepers
Lying warm in distant beds or lost forever,
Then chops and chops and chops and
Beyond the kitchen window, pines stand black,
Tall, and stiff against the graying sky.