Life With Horace

poetry & essays


The Stuffing Bowl

Once spied up on a dusty shelf
and brought home as a prize,
the stuffing bowl sits quiet,
holding memory in its curve.
The sisterhood of early rising cooks
assembling the ingredients
of timeless celebrations,
ingatherings of family and friends
all linked by common filament.
It waits for careful hands
to lift it down and fill its heart again
with love and thankfulness.

my sister Annie and I have always called each other on Thanksgiving morning, up early, cooking.