Question

Write from the perspective of an object (such as a turkey, a pie, or a centerpiece) on the Thanksgiving table. What do you observe, and what story do you have to tell about the people gathered around you? And write like a 4th grader.

Answer 1

I sit in the middle of the table. I am a big bowl with orange leaves and tiny fake pumpkins. My ribbon is a little wrinkled. I don't move. I only watch.

The room smells like turkey and butter and cinnamon. Steam from the gravy makes the air warm on my leaves. I can hear the oven beep and the dog barking under the chairs. Grandpa snores sometimes after he eats. That makes everybody laugh.

Mom carries the turkey in. It smells so good! Dad lifts the lid off the casserole and a cloud of steam goes up like a small fog. Lucy and Ben (they are cousins) grab the rolls like they are on a treasure hunt. Ben tries to sneak two rolls but Lucy sees him and says, "No way!" They push each other with napkins. I wish I could stop them, but I am stuck on the table.

Aunt Maria tells a story about when Dad was a kid and spilled potatoes on the cat. Everyone laughs so loud that my little pumpkin wiggles (but it is glued, so it does not fall). Grandma cries a little because she remembers someone who is not here anymore. Mom wipes her eyes with a napkin and then smiles. I hear forks clink and a toast: "To family!" They all touch their glasses and say "Cheers."

Uncle Joe makes a joke that is a little silly. He imitates Grandpa and we all laugh again. The kids make a fort with napkins and put a leaf crown on Ben. He looks like a tiny king. Outside the window, the leaves on the big tree are red. The light makes the candles on my sides glow.

Later, the pie comes out and everyone takes a piece. Lucy saves the last slice for Grandma. That was nice. Ben drops some pie on the tablecloth and Mom says "Clean up!" but she does it with a smile. The dog gets a tiny crumb and wags his tail so hard his name tag bangs on the bowl leg. "Biscuit!" someone says and pats him.

I see the small things. I see hands reach across for the cranberry sauce. I see a phone take one picture for Grandma. I see hugs when people leave. People argue about who gets the last piece of pie, but they always share in the end.

I am just a centerpiece. I have no mouth and no fork. But I like my place because I get to watch. I see love in the way they pass the rolls and in the way they laugh when someone tells a silly story. When the last dish is cleared and the lights get dim, I feel warm. My leaves are full of Thanksgiving.