by Louis Jenkins

There's no use in regret. You can't change anything.
Your mother died unhappy with the way you turned
out. You and your father were not on speaking terms
when he died, and you left your wife for no good
reason. Well, it's past. You may as well regret missing
out on the conquest of Mexico. That would have been
just your kind of thing back when you were eighteen:
a bunch of murderous Spaniards, out to destroy a
culture and get rich. On the other hand, the Aztecs
were no great shakes either. It's hard to know whom
to root for in this situation. The Aztecs thought they
had to sacrifice lots of people to keep the sun coming
up every day. And it worked. The sun rose every day.
But it was backbreaking labor, all that sacrificing.
The priests had to call in the royal family to help,
and their neighbors, the gardener, the cooks.... You
can see how this is going to end. You are going to
have your bloody, beating heart ripped out, but you
are going to have to stand in line, in the hot sun, for
hours, waiting your turn.

by Katrina Vandenberg

This morning in the untouched lots
of Target, St. Agnes, and Lake
Phalen, girls all over the city
in the first snowfall
of their sixteenth year are being asked
by brothers, fathers—my cousin
Warren—to drive too fast then lock
their brakes, to teach them how to right
themselves. The whine of the wheels, the jerk
when they catch—from Sears to Como Park
to Harding High, the smoke
that bellows from their lungs,
the silver sets of jagged
keys, the spray of snow,
the driver's seat, the encouraging Go

by Hal Sirowitz

I'd like to take my family to the lake,
Father said, so they can see how well
the animal & fish kingdoms get along.
You hardly ever see ducks fighting.
If they do, it's done in private.
We should follow their example,
& not air out our dirty laundry in public.
That was what I told your mother
at the restaurant, that she should
save her complaints for when we
get home. She said she had already
complained there. She was hoping
she'd get better results if she changed locations.

by David Allen Sullivan

You do not have to choose the bruised peach
or misshapen pepper others pass over.
You don't have to bury
your grandmother's keys underneath
her camellia bush as the will states.

You don't need to write a poem about
your grandfather coughing up his lung
into that plastic tube—the machine's wheezing
almost masking the kvetching sisters
in their Brooklyn kitchen.

You can let the crows amaze your son
without your translation of their cries.
You can lie so long under this
summer shower your imprint
will be left when you rise.

You can be stupid and simple as a heifer.
Cook plum and apple turnovers in the nude.
Revel in the flight of birds without
dreaming of flight. Remember the taste of
raw dough in your mouth as you edged a pie.

Feel the skin on things vibrate. Attune
yourself. Close your eyes. Hum.
Each beat of the world's pulse demands
only that you feel it. No thoughts.
Just the single syllable: Yes ...

See the homeless woman following
the tunings of a dead composer?
She closes her eyes and sways
with the subways. Follow her down,
inside, where the singing resides.

by Mark Halliday

Ran into Alyssa and Todd and Alyssa said "I like your shirt"
and I laughed because it's obviously very old and she said
"But it looks so soft and comfortable" and I agreed
and Alyssa said "And that little heart is so sweet"
referring to the red velvet heart sewn on the left shoulder
so I said "There's a lot of history in that" and then had to explain
that my first wife sewed the heart on this shirt
for her boyfriend before me—and Alyssa said
"Wow, that seems symbolic of something!" and Todd laughed
and I said "It probably means that I refuse to let go of
any trace of the past" and Alyssa said "Or maybe it means
you refuse to be oppressed by the past" and I said
"That sounds good" and Todd sort of half smiled and Alyssa said
"You accept the past so it can't then turn around and bite you"
and for a half second this idea sparkled alarmingly in the air
and then we all smiled in order to let the scene end

by Louis Jenkins

When the morning comes that you don't wake up,
what remains of your life goes on as some kind of
electromagnetic energy. There's a slight chance you
might appear on someone's screen as a dot. Face it.
You are a blip or a ping, part of the background noise,
the residue of the Big Bang. You remember the Big
Bang, don't you? You were about 26 years old, driving
a brand new red and white Chevy convertible, with
that beautiful blond girl at your side. Charlene, was
her name. You had a case of beer on ice in the back,
cruising down Highway number 7 on a summer
afternoon and then you parked near Loon Lake just
as the moon began to rise. Way back then you said to
yourself, "Boy, it doesn't get any better than this," and
you were right.

As you probably do, every year I watch for new recipes to try and try to improve on old tried-and true ones.

Here are my favorite recipes for cranberries, sweet potatoes and, of course, TURKEY!

Cranberries

Sweet Potatoes

The Turkey is my personal recipe that I have been improving on over the years. Yes, there is a lot of turning involved but you will thank me!


1 whole turkey neck and gibblets removed
2 cups kosher salt
3 tablespoons garlic minced
1 tablespoon black pepper
1/3 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup Worcestershire sauce
2 large onions yellow, chopped
4 carrots peeled and chopped
4 stalks celery chopped
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
1 bottle white wine
2 cups butter melted
4 tablespoons onion powder (optional)

- rinse turkey, rub inside and out with kosher salt (use whatever amount is needed) place turkey in a large stock pot and add enough water to cover turkey 3/4 of the way
- place garlic, pepper and brown sugar in a sauce pan with 4 cups water and boil until sugar is dissolved. Add ice to cool mixture.
- Add worcestershire to mixture and pour over turkey. Add enough water to submerge the turkey and refrigerate overnight (12 hours)
- preheat oven to 350
- rinse turkey and discard the brine mixture
- stuff turkey with 1/2 the onions, 1/2 the carrots, 1/2 the celery, 1/2 the thyme and the bay leaf
- scatter remaining vegetables in the bottom of the roasting pan and pour in 1/3 of the white wine
- place turkey breast-side down on roasting rack and coat with 1/2 the melted butter (dust 1/2 the onion powder if desired)
- roast uncovered 3-3 1/2 hours (for an 8-10 pound turkey) until internal temperature of thigh is 180
- baste every 45 minutes or so

*2/3 of the way through the cooking process, turn turkey breast-side up (use two clean oven mitts to handle the turkey) and coat with the remaining butter and onion powder - continue cooking
- once done, remove from oven, turn turkey breast-side down on roasting rack and allow to cool for 30 minutes
- turn turkey breast-side up for serving

Carve!

by Ron Koertge

Some of my friends claim they could
never live in California. They find
the regular beauty too much like
a postcard with its predictable
tanka.

And, anyway, how do I ever get
anything done with the sun luring
everyone to the first tee
or the pari-mutuel windows,

much less the way the chairs
all seem to lean back under a tree,
a cat ready to curl up on my lap
or at my sandaled feet.

They prefer the bracing rigors
of snow and rain. They write
about its feet and inches, all
they endure to buy an orange
or see a movie as they

picture me, probably, still on
my chaise, their letter falling
from one languid hand onto
the voluptuous lawn.