the merry doorbell rings.
Draft is felt from her room as snowy footsteps enter,
already conversing loudly

Voices erupt in cheer, unfamiliar voices.
clinking of silverware

Laughter, greetings exchanged
Roars of appreciation

. . . . . . confined to her warm, familiar, room, she listens at the vent upstairs,
drinking in the new company.

Closest to company she'll have today.

Good.

She waits for the click;
for the door to open

But no one comes.

So she sits, alone on Thanksgiving:

And she's Thankful.