Thanksgiving

Take me back to cherry trees, to strawberry summers and
         lemon meringue, to pecans and mince and
         flavors of feasts, enfolded in circles of blessing and home,
         to aroma sweet, in buttery crusts that shatter when
         whispers of Aunt Etta's good forks touch at the points of
         glistening wedges, and no crumb remains on
         the Staffordshire plates when Grandpa discreetly exhales a sigh.
         I sing the praise of American pie.

Ellie Mathews is a writer and Northwest native.