She warmed chicken soup all day—
ready for the hungry, the empty
She popped popcorn on movie days for seniors
saying, I’m more able than them
and sent me care packages of beads and bread
in time of war, conflict, hate
She drank her Folgers black but kept a cup
of sugar on the table for those in need of sweetness
and frankly talked about hair loss—near her brows,
beneath her arms, and yes, her “kittycat” too
Walking on base at blackout, her essence persists—
her orphaned upbringing, her ways of preservation
She tells me over and over, Blood is thicker, Family
is all that matters, and, Call your mother.
Rebecca Evans writes the difficult, the heart-full, the guidebooks for survivors. Her poems and essays have appeared in Narratively, The Rumpus, Hypertext Magazine, War, Literature & the Arts, The Limberlost Review, and more. She’s the author of Tangled by Blood and a forthcoming collection, Safe Handling (Moon Tide Press, 2024). She shares space with four Newfoundlands and her sons in a tiny town in Idaho and does her best writing beneath her stairway in a hidden cove. https://rebeccaevanswriter.com/
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