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      April 27, 2016Apron StringsBeth Gylys

      I have lied about my mother.
      She never wore aprons,
      regularly burned dinners.
      A student and teacher
      with four young kids, she broke
      multiple watches—wound
      too tight—made lists she’d forget
      on countertops and tables.
       
      Forever distracted, forever
      rushing about with heels
      in one hand, a baby in the other,
      who could blame her
      for not meeting us at the door
      with a hug and a cookie?
       
      Number-cruncher, maker
      of money, a modern woman
      before the phrase was de rigueur,
      my mother opened doors
      in business and in solitude.
      She would shape our lives
      forever by leaving us alone.

      from #51 - Spring 2016

      Beth Gylys

      “I began to self-identify as a feminist while an undergraduate during the ’80s when I took several courses, which would now have been labeled ‘Women’s Studies’ courses. The women faculty I was drawn to and who taught those classes were first-wave feminists and they (the women and the courses) had a tremendous impact on me. I read Erica Jong, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Anne Sexton, and Adrienne Rich. Even before that, though, I had a feminist sensibility. While raising four children, my mother pursued a master’s degree and worked full time. She shaped my belief that women should not be defined only by their relationships. I write about any number of subjects, and I hope as a feminist, my poetry complicates my/our understanding of women.”

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