The day we started bombing (we because no matter
How I refused, they used my name anyway)
I folded up joy, like a Bedouin's tent, bright,
Fringed and billowing and put on black.

from De Luto/In Black Featured at Poets Against the War.org

Rebecca del Rio is a long-term activist, poet, writer and mother.

Jack was looking at a petite dynamo, his vigorous, sharp mom who made everything hold together, who made everything make sense while she made sense of simply allowing this wasting fog to crawl through her body without putting up a fight. The ice tea pitcher wept and Jack absentmindedly drew a smiley face on it.

From On Hope Alone, Rebecca’s novel in progress