2003: My First Thanksgiving

I won’t remember my first Thanksgiving,

but those around me will.

With dozens and hundreds of digital photos,

the chance of forgetting is nil.

I can’t believe it’s my first Thanksgiving;

I only just landed, you know.

And just like my parents, I find myself thinking,

“Where did those first seven months go?”

I’m happy to be at my first Thanksgiving,

even though the whole family’s not here.

My dad says we miss them, wherever they are,

but at least they won’t drink all the beer.

I won’t try the turkey this first Thanksgiving—

but breast milk’s a pretty good trade.

I might have a yam or a few sweet potatoes,

but only if they’ve been pureéd.

Can you remember your first Thanksgiving?

Were there cousins and uncles and aunts?

Did you drool on the stuffing, potatoes, and gravy?

Did it all make you pee in your pants?

I’m already seeing my second Thanksgiving,

and I know it will be quite a treat.

We’ll need to acquire a new dining room table

for our new home that’s right down the street!

So what’s the big deal—it’s my first Thanksgiving;

I’m sure there will be hundreds more.

On second thought, though, there is only one first,

and that’s what this poem is for.

I might remember my first Thanksgiving,

when later I read the above.

But one thing’s for sure: That I’ll never forget

just how much and how deeply I’m loved.