Thanksgiving

First was your uncle, flattened by a tractor thirty years before you were born. Second came your eldest cousin, who wishing to examine the inner workings of the cow feeder, split open their thighs on razor-sharp blades, only to be carried to the farmhouse and stitched together again. Third was your father, who shed his blood in increments. A rambunctious bull and his kicks to the fourth and fifth fingers. A drunken four-wheeler ride into thorny bramble. Three times a tumble down the stairs of the farmhouse, each step framed by upturned nails, a nudity you never understood. Your...

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