It was a celebratory meal.  All were invited.  She showed up late bustling with excitement—thrilled to be a part of it all.  Everyone clapped and stared at her as she walked through the door. Their eyes as big as their dinner plates—round and hungry. No one had a bite of food before she arrived.  They were all waiting for her to eat.  How gracious of them.    

They brought her through the kitchen and took her out back.  Auntie tore off her clothes.  She started screaming at the top of her lungs, her pain was so terrible.  Mother got the cleaver and chopped off her head.  I opened my mouth but no words came out.  I cowered behind the dish towel, all I could do was watch as they brought her back into the kitchen, the blood still dripping from her neck.  Auntie slammed her on the counter and tied her arms back—Mother found the biggest baking dish she could find and lined it with carrots, onions, and parsley.    

Auntie grabbed a fistful of guts and replaced her belly full of mushrooms, apples, and bread until it looked like it would burst.  She then tied her legs together to keep everything crammed inside.  The oven beeped twice saying it was ready and Mother shoved her in and set the timer.  She got to cleaning up the mess—dumping the guts in the garbage and mopping up the blood that spilled from the counter and pooled in the sink.  

Mother grabbed my hand—it was time to play fun games.  But I was too little to play, so I sat on the floor and bumped my cars together and thought about her in the oven.  I sniffed the air.  I could smell her skin cooking.  I remember how happy she looked when she first arrived—like we were her family.  

Hours went by and the oven beeped again—it was time to eat.  We all took our seats.  Mother piled mashed potatoes on my plate and gave me cranberry sauce.  They brought her to the table—all golden brown and beaded with sweat.  I didn’t even recognize her anymore. Mother set her at the center of the table and all the grown-ups stabbed her with knives and forks and tore pieces off her body.  Uncle Roy ripped off her leg and put it on my plate.  He said it was the very best part.  

All the grownups took turns saying how thankful they were.  I looked at all of them slobbering over their plates—talking with their mouths open.  I could see her on their tongues and in between their teeth.  I sniffed her leg on my plate and carefully picked it up.  I gripped my hand around her in an imaginary hug—laid a kiss on her burned skin—and ate her.