“Sitting in the physical ache of longing, I just tried to write the most vulnerable poem that I could. The evening I wrote this poem, a friend and I had just delivered twenty flip phones to people living in a homeless camp that was about to be demolished. No one there had a phone. The hope was that connection and community could somehow change the trajectory of the loss. After the rainy night delivery, I went home. I smelled wood smoke on my clothes and cooked a pot of soup in my kitchen. I wanted to fill more bowls than my own.”
—Abe Louise Young