Here’s a little Thanksgiving short story I wrote in my Children’s Lit class this morning. I hope you enjoy it!
My Goose is Cooked
By Jennifer Beard
The coils ripple heat across my golden, crispy skin. The warm air of the kitchen feels cool in comparison to my oven sauna. I know my time on this earth is short. I wish I could spend my last moments with my family out in the powdery snow. I know my sacrifice is a noble cause. I feel myself being lifted out of the pan where I had been basting in my own sweat. I am nestled in a bed of crisp lettuce arranged upon a clean, white tray.
As I descend, I take note of the beautiful, festive candles and leaves that are placed in a decorative manner across the table. I take my place between the gravy and cranberry sauce. It is then that I notice the twenty round faces leering and drooling as they stalk their prey – me.
What? I thought my sacrifice would benefit a family that is truly in want, not these plump, greedy American vultures who are practically drenching their napkins in saliva. My gaze is drawn by a quick flash of light glinting off the razor-sharp blade that can only be meant for me. At least it will be over quickly.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
This is kind of random. I had an assignment to write a poem in the style of Thomas Gray. He’s a Pre-Romantic 18th century British poet. For any other English majors out there, the Pre-Romantic poets were the transition into the beautiful poetry we saps love about love, childhood, the simple life – poet like Blake, Wordsworth, Byron, etc.
So Thomas Gray is very depressing, filled with longing, and is just starting to delve into the nature/childhood aspects of poetry. His poem “Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College” is where we get the commonly-known aphorism “Ignorance is bliss.” I modeled my poem after that poem. Let it be known that this is maybe the 4th poem that I’ve written in my life. I generally get frustrated halfway through and give up. So on the rare occasion that I do finish, I’m usually pretty pleased with myself. So without further ado…………
Ode to the Childhood Days in Modesto
Ye distant memories of orchards and playgrounds,
Of long walks and bike rides through the neighborhood,
Where are ye now that my mind knows the bounds
Of freedom and dreams of things I thought I could?
Oh, for the days of childhood, careless and bold
When each pinky swear was a secret to be treasured,
And dandelions were made to be crowns of gold.
Neither by friends nor money was my value measured.
I remember now, as though it were a moment ago.
I feel the sun, the grass, my own bare feet
Skipping along. My heart was contented so!
I wonder, Ignorance, if by chance, we again shall meet?