By Sarah Rose Thomas

I’m hiding in the broom closet
of the community pantry–
a handful of dry Rice Krispies
pressing into my inner cheeks,
sucking to quiet the betraying snap,
the crackle of hunger

My mom woke us early
by unzipping her duffle bag.
We watched her transfer clothes
from dresser to bag,
“It’s our last day.
Other mothers and children
need a place.” To hide.
I’m not crying in here,
Just trying to swallow down
the pop of going home
once again.

Sarah Rose Thomas teaches high school English in Northeastern Wisconsin. She spends most of her time correcting essays, wrangling her six sons, and working on her Masters in English. Though she mostly writes poetry, her recent coursework has given her the confidence to branch out into flash fiction and memoir.

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