It’s Thanksgiving
and I’m drinking wine with my mother
mystified that my story could have ended
any other way
not laughing on the porch with my parents
head swimming with love
fingers dancing on keys
as I write another poem
about loving my family
If things had turned out differently
I would be buried in the ground
my parents weeping at my grave
only bones and pain
left in my final resting place
instead, I am resting on my couch
dog snuggled up beside me
lost for words
as to how I can apologize
for almost making this holiday
and every other one that followed
somber and dimmed
by one decision
that would have changed everything