Sam’s Storybook
Published in

Sam’s Storybook

Thanksgiving, Alone

You made me two pies

After I lied

And told you I was going west:

to the mountains

to breathe air and catch desiccated leaves as they floated down to earth.

I couldn’t eat them. The pies.

But it felt like so much to tell you that the way you wanted to help

made bile rise in my throat.

I hid in the bathroom from the empty apartment

With the lampless hall waiting like a tomb.

Everyone thought I was somewhere else,

A collection of somewheres I couldn’t stand to be.

I knew that I couldn’t handle —

Couldn’t hold the pity in my shaking arms

while everyone contorted around me.

There was so much love then,

but I couldn’t bear the weight of any of it.

Even as you tried to make it feather light

drifting in uncomplicated,

Everything was complicated.

And I was scared and I was so mean.

When all you wanted was to care about me.

I’m sorry,

I brought two pies



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Samantha Harrington

Samantha Harrington

Freelance journo and designer. I write. A lot. Tea obsessed but need coffee to live. Usually dancing- poorly.