Wilbur the turkey

i remember watching my

grandmother

chase

an enormous turkey around

her small yard

in Philadelphia.

she had a gleaming sharp

hatchet in her hand,

held over her head

as she ran

maniacally around,

shouting in Italian.

we had named the turkey,

Wilbur

and often

would pet it.

at some point

my mother would come

into the room

and put her hands over

my eyes,

leading me away from the window,

and say.

let's go down to the kitchen

and see how

that pie is doing in the oven.