A gray plastic table, with a cheap burgundy vinyl cloth.

Cold metal folding chairs filled with transparent figures.

Thanksgiving Dinner with a forced smile.

            There’s nothing here to fill me up.

I flee with my friends.

Sitting in a circle with the bouncing firelight,

The radiant glow keeps the dark at bay.

This is where we recount all of our old

Memories, and stories.

The orange, yellow, gold flame lights up the laughter

And sparks nostalgia.

The fire crackles, pops, dances,

Warmly embraces all.

Everything and anything is fuel,

Burned until there is nothing else.

This,

            These late nights,

            Under bright stars,

            Among excited embers,

 Are where we make

memories and stories.

This is how we give thanks.