Mama wanted to keep Shirley and Bobo,
but the other seven pardoned turkeys
went to good homes before Thanksgiving Day.
On Thanksgiving morning, she packs vegetables
and mashed potatoes, a pumpkin pie,
and a cooked chicken (because it was already roasted at the store)
in a cardboard box.
“Take this to Mr. Dell,” she tells Papa.
“He is all alone.”
This is how Mama will till the soil
with Mr. Dell.
“Come with me, Meems,” Papa says.
I shake my head. I don’t want to see Mr. Dell.
“It will be easier to carry the food
in two boxes, so I need your help.”
“Well, okay,” I say, “as long as I don’t have to talk to him.”
We carry the boxes across the yard
and over the fence to Mr. Dell’s back door,
and knock
and knock again.
Just when I’m about to say “Let’s leave them here,”
the door opens
a crack
and then wider.
Mr. Dell doesn’t smile,
but he doesn’t shut the door.
“Emiko made dinner for you,” Papa says,
and holds out his box.
Chicken-smelling steam seeps through the flaps of my box,
and then a miracle happens—
Mr. Dell opens the storm door all the way
and takes Papa’s box.
I stack mine on top.
Mr. Dell looks at us
and says, “Thank you.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Papa says.
We walk side by side
all the way home
before we look at each other
and smile.