Amelia Harrington


He sits us down in a freezing blue room 
With a round table and wood back chairs
Such that when I sit, 
If I close my eyes, 
I’ll be back at home
Sitting in my own little wooden swivel chair 
My home feels like warmth and drinking boiling ginger tea on an overcast day 
Of simmering pots of herbs and vegetables 
Of a wet dog somersaulting on the carpet 
Of laughter and oil paints and cooling lemon loaf 
On the kitchen counter 

I open my eyes to the cold blue room once more 
We’re each handed a bright neon Starburst 
One for each thing we betray
I feel my feet brush the frigid floor through the worn heels of my socks 
I cling to the oversized shirt I do not own because I feel this place is crawling all over me 

One starburst:
What do you value most? Who do you love? 

The sugar and fake lemon lights up my tongue 

Two starburst: 
Do you miss who you were when you weren’t swallowing capsules? 

  A sweet touch of artificial cherry 

Three starburst: 
Where do you wish you were, instead of this place? 

At this, I smile, and refuse the third and final treat  
The place that lives in my memories and my dreams, calling ever so sweetly and strong 
Is for me to enjoy 
This is the one secret you lot cannot wrest from me 
The secret I will keep 

About the Author: Amelia Harrington is a senior at Townsend Harris High School in Queens, New York. She enjoys writing short stories and poetry surrounding mental health advocacy, including this poem. She plans on majoring in Anthropology.