Con La Doña Eva

In her house, Eva does not say I love you the way you do —  
like It’s Tuesday or Close the fridge, would you? She says it  
con chile y ajo. De nuevo, con pozole. When you come by 

with the baby to drop off bread & soup, she will insist on walking  
down the drive to see you, her leg aching — to charge you: Que  
las hijas son las más importantes. She says it with the work of her  

hands. At Sacred Heart, she laid it out in the daily bread  
of hamburgers, as the girls filed out and in, no time  
to talk. At her table, you will scoop seeds from a pepper, slice 

it thin. Peel potatoes with a knife facing inward. She will nod 
& feed the baby a spicy mac. The girl knows to gobble it, to ask 
for more. Later, as you drive to the grocery for milk, for something 

else neither of you can remember, she will swear by the burning 
sun, tell you she did not honor her mother — dodged her  
education, lived willful. She will pass you a photo where she sits 

under Frida in Oaxaca & smokes. There, Eva stares straight  
at the camera, a crisp white shirt folded open at the neck.  
These are the gifts of her rebellion. Her daughters, 

by the time you return, will have brought her roses, orchids fresh  
from the market. Eva will almost smile, taking them, and ask,  
si son robados de la calle. Rising, she will start the water por un café. 

SHERRE VERNON

Sherre Vernon (she/her/hers) is the author of two award-winning chapbooks: Green Ink Wings (fiction) and The Name is Perilous (poetry). Her work has appeared in TAB, The Chestnut Review, and others, and was nominated for Best of the Net, and anthologized in several collections, including Bending Genres, Fat & Queer and Best Small Fictions. Read Sherre’s work at www.sherrevernon.com and tag her into conversation @sherrevernon.