The Relatives Who Live in My Head
show up just as I slide into memories
of grandmother’s smile as she basted the turkey.
They crowd into the kitchen
without invitation. They say
it’s just not Thanksgiving without
Milly’s broccoli and cheese casserole.
The truth is, none of them ate any of it.
Milly, my mother, elaborately ate one spoonful
that day, and we ate the rest for a week.
The relatives who live in my head say
it’s just not Thanksgiving without
Hazel’s oyster dressing. We all took that,
you bet, because Hazel would say,
“You missed the oyster dressing,”
and slap it on our plates herself.
The relatives who live in my head
are just like real relatives.
I don’t see them for months.
They don’t call, or write, or visit.
But come Thanksgiving, Christmas,
or Easter, here they are again.
The relatives who live in my head murmur,
“Only one kind of cranberry sauce?”
“Where are the green beans with slivered almonds?”
And what was that stuff on them–
cream of chicken soup?
“Sorry,” I say,
but I’m not. They’re muttering,
“No home-baked rolls? No sweet potatoes
with marshmallows and brown sugar?”
The relatives who live
in my head mumble, “That pie crust
doesn’t look home-made.” I hum as I
make a pasta salad. “What’s that stuff?”
say the relatives who live in my head.
“Where’s the Jell-O and marshmallows?”
“I love you all,” I tell them,
“But buzz off,” pouring
a wee dram of Scotch to sip
as I baste the turkey. My life mate
mashes the potatoes to creamy paste
swimming in butter. We seat ourselves,
brimming with thankfulness.
Poem © 2011, Linda M. Hasselstrom
Find this poem in my book Dirt Songs: A Plains Duet, co-written with Twyla M. Hansen– 50 poems by each of us. (2011, The Backwaters Press, Omaha, NE)
Linda M. Hasselstrom
Windbreak House Writing Retreats
Hermosa, South Dakota
© 2019, Linda M. Hasselstrom
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