Grandpa Vogt’s—1959

The food is on the table. Turkey tanned to a cowboy boot luster, potatoes mashed and mounded in a bowl whose lip is lined with blue flowers linked by grey vines faded from washing. Everyone’s heads have turned to elongate the table’s view—a last supper twisted toward a horizon where the Christmas tree, crowned by a window, sets into itself half inclined. Each belly cries. Each pair of eyes admonished by Aunt Photographer. Look up. You’re wined and dined for the older folks who’ve pined to see your faces, your lives, lightly framed in this moment’s flash. Parents are moved, press their children’s heads up from the table, hide their hunger by rubbing lightly wrinkled hands atop their laps. They’ll hold the image as long as need be, seconds away from grace.