Uncle Jim brought up the house

Uncle Jim brought up the house

right when the turkey was getting cold.

Nobody looked up from their plates.

The only sound was the refrigerator hum

and the scraping of metal on stoneware.

I’m in here now, rinsing the grease.

I take my fork and draw a line

through the cold gravy on the platter.

It stays there, a jagged trench

that won't fill back in.