A Thanksgiving Mystery

not enough seats

up to the attic for more

stiff and cold

of sawdust and a lonely floor

behind the creates

of the holiday decore

lay the tables and folds

you dragged them to the door

but then-- behind the sheets

a glint you couldn’t ignore

come closer the tarnished gold

seemed to implore

no desire for a thanksgiving feast

when you saw the open door

it was wooden, dark, and old

your mind begged for more

you stepped closer, feeling stuffy heat

you felt no hesitation, nor

fear of the threshold

for two letters, the golden handle bore

mysteriously etched of deceit

there your initials were adorned

what happened next was left untold

of what you saw beyond that door