Pass the stuffing without the judgment,

keep the gravy flowing free—

no need to know your voting record

or who you want to be.

Someone cut off Uncle Bob,

pour Karen another glass of red.

Maybe then she’ll loosen up

and laugh at what gets said. 🍷

Grandpa’s hearing aids come out

the moment voices rise.

Brother and Dad will lock their horns—

no one acts surprised.

My husband tries to carve the turkey,

Mom swoops in—she’ll take it from here.

We catch each other’s eye and smile,

a language only we can hear. 🦃

Mom will sigh and shake her head,

then pour herself some whiskey neat.

The kids will wrestle for the wishbone,

chaos bittersweet.

But here’s the thing I’ve come to know,

the wish I’d make is already true:

This mess of love and imperfection

is everything—and it’s me and you. 🤍