her meal

i remember
the olives my mother would stuff
with cream
cheese.
stalks of celery too.
the gravy bowl.
the fat turkey glistening
from the basting of
juices.
i see the mounds of potatoes,
white
and topped with pads
of butter.
the hot rolls from the oven.
i see
the cranberries in a bowl,
the greens,
the squash, the stuffing.
i see my mother, sweating
at the stove.
everyone but her eating.
how happy she was
in these moments. all together
as one
like it used to be.