This was written for Carrot Ranch where we were asked to write about nourish. Which led me to Thanksgiving, where you know you will be nourished for food, but emotionally?
And Then Alone
I didn’t want to come home for Thanksgiving, navigate the endless sessions of why aren’t you like Nathan or Rachel? Why are you working an administrative job, pretending to be a writer? Why aren’t you going to graduate school? Becoming a lawyer, a doctor? It’s in our genes. Why are you our disgrace?
My grandmother survived Auschwitz. You’d think I could survive Thanksgiving.
I breathe a hundred breaths into the ending of this novel. My grandmother read every word, blessed them, before she passed. Now, I am alone.
My homemade pumpkin pie will nourish. Will my novel ever appease?