Thanksgiving in Connecticut
is silent & swift & colder than space. At night,
the faintest of stars reach through air, zippered
shut. Sky pinched & sweet & endless--
when what is far away is what is near, anything
could emerge, terrifying as coming home--
as the nine of us, our animals, trapped bodies
inside. Until the roads clear, tense, on the couch.
Sister M, begins pacing, the wind picking up.
Aunt J in the kitchen, rummaging through her purse,
Oh shit, she says--my meds are missing. Sister M
looks up & says, It wasn’t me--which of course
it was thus the endless groan, the mindless
ceremony, the game of clue while the blizzard
swirls around us—one thousand mosh pits
glowing. Sister D drinks all the wine, lips turning
red then purple then blue then falling down
the stairs, getting up & I’m fine & I’m fine.
Just like that, when grandfather hits a breaking
point—dentures out on the table & cousin C
has taken to hiding in the powder room, the snow
stops & the moisture clears like an awkward
throat the house shifts & the people get their coats.
TRISTAN SILVERMAN began writing in Chicago's poetry community and has gone on to win several regional awards, amongst them the Gwendolyn Brooks Award for Poetry. Tristan's work has been published in numerous journals including Boxcar Poetry Review, decomP, Pedestal Magazine, Union Station, November 3rd Club and Word Riot.
TIEGAN DAKIN is a teenage writer and artist whose photography has previously appeared in Gravel Literary Journal. Aside from photography, Tiegan adores poetry and screenwriting; her poetry has been shortlisted for competitions twice in the past. Some of her favourite poets and artists include Brenda Shaughnessy and Kumi Yamashita. You can learn more about Tiegan at her blog: https://harbourwave.wordpress.com/