Some Things My Mother Forgot to Teach Me (Before She Died)

A while ago I saw this prompt on Instagram
though I added ‘before she died’
because mine did—long before
anyway, I made a list

How to think of rejection as a yellow brick
one I could toss
or use to build a road I could dance on
as I made my way to Oz
it’s the sort of thing she might have said
she adored Judy Garland, you see

How to cut my losses
as easily as she once cut my fringe
so I could see without going cock-eyed

How to speak quietly
but with the insistence of valley rain
so I’m never asked—
Oh sweetheart, is it your time of the month?

How to insist on equal pay
my name on the mortgage
an epidural
HRT…

When I found the list the other day
incognito in a mislabeled file
I decided to give it a new title—
Things I Told My Daughter
(just in case I die tomorrow)

I added
How to say no without guilt
How to take up space in a room
How to let a man hold the door
without letting him hold your life
And how to say the things you need to say today
in case you find yourself
somewhere over the rainbow tomorrow

Adele Evershed is a Welsh writer who swapped the Valleys for the American East Coast. A Pushcart Prize–nominated poet and Touchstone Award winner for an individual poem. She has published the poetry collection Turbulence in Small Spaces (Finishing Line Press) and three novellas-in-flash: Wannabe, Schooled (Alien Buddha Press), and A History of Hand Thrown Walls (Unsolicited Press). Her work has appeared in Poetry Wales, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, Presence, Prune Juice, Comstock Review, Literary Mama, and elsewhere.