by Anthoula Lelekidis
A Letter to Mama Before the Revolt
I didn’t pack much. So I won’t be taking much from you,
if worst comes to worst.
Just what fits in my hands and pockets,
nothing that marks me, nothing that marks you.
I left before dawn.
But you’ll nag of course, and make me take inventory:
I folded up the scarf you knitted last winter,
soft and worn where your fingers traced the stitches.
It will hide my face if I have to,
thick enough to soak in vinegar in case they throw gas.
Carries a little of your warmth in the cold too.
Goggles borrowed from Tomas. He said they saved him last time.
A cloth mask, stitched in secret from one of your old dish rags.
It still smells like home, somehow— like thyme and the old floorboards.
Flat shoes I can run in.
They say we’ll be in the city by morning.
That the soldiers are tired. That the people are with us.
The city is colder now. Even the dogs don’t bark anymore.
It feels like everything is waiting. I’m waiting, Mama,
in these streets emptier than our homes.
Last noon I watched old Mrs. Kahn’s windows shatter.
Her boy was barely twenty, older than I.
Mama, thank you for giving birth to a daughter.
Those men come for young men with little warning,
whispered names on lists no one admits to seeing.
Of course she begged for mercy, clemency.
For a chance to keep him here, away from the guns.
And no he couldn’t be, or to the gallows he’d go.
These uniformed men, princely and haughty,
come like the cold wind:
unyielding, unrelenting. Is that why it’s called the draft,
Mama?
I didn’t want to look.
In the alley behind her bakery, I found broken toys.
A doll missing an eye, a cracked wooden horse.
Last afternoon I stood there, holding an apple,
wondering how it rotted in my hand without a bite.
Don’t wait for me, Mama.
No Mama, I’ve yet to forget your lessons.
How you taught me to keep my head down
even if the ground itself was on fire.
How safety was only something borrowed,
paid for by the quiet we learned to keep.
Mama, the church bells have stopped ringing.
Last week I saw the Martinez boy carrying water for his mother,
barefoot, with eyes too old for his age.
He’s young, Mama. Praise the heavens.
His mother’s brown hair greys by the day.
So, Mama, I’ll walk into the noise with your voice in my ear,
telling me to be careful, not to be stupid, not to be brave.
But Mama, maybe you should’ve told me more fairytales.
Now I see being quiet is quite costly too.
I’m not brave, Mama. I’m terrified.
Terrified that this won’t work.
That we’ll scatter like mice, and no one will remember we tried.
If I don’t see you again, Mama,
know that I tried to come home.
They say the soldiers are tired,
but tired men still hold rifles.
I don’t know what kind of dawn waits for us,
if it will burn bright or bleed slow.
So if this is goodbye, Mama,
let it be a quiet one.
I love you, Mama.
Burn this letter once you’ve read.
And if I do return—
I hope you’ll still open the door.
But Mama, if they come knocking
Say you don’t know me.
Love,
Your daughter.
Shannon Seng is a Singaporean student with a deep appreciation for tragedies whether on the page or on stage. Her poetry has appeared in Bow Seat’s Ocean Advocacy Art Gallery and in the 2025 Eye on the World Anthology. When not writing, she’s probably daydreaming about doomed characters or making a pita sandwich. Find her at @ss_liberosis on Instagram.
Anthoula Lelekidis is a first-generation Greek-American lens-based artist who utilizes photography, printmaking, and image transfer in her practice. Her work navigates themes of personal memory, migration, and identity. With a deep interest in the archive, Lelekidis manipulates found family photographs to delve into the complexities of her ancestry, reimagining the blank spaces and uncovering lost connections to her past. Lelekidis holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Photography from Parsons School of Design and was awarded a Community Fellowship from the International Center of Photography. She was an artist-in-residence at the Skopelos Foundation of the Arts in Greece and earned a scholarship from the Students On Ice Organization to travel to photograph Antarctica. More recently, she was the recipient of the Manhattan Graphics Center’s printmaking scholarship in 2022 and NYFA’s Queens Art Fund: New Work Grant in 2023. She is a faculty member at the International Center of Photography and is based in Queens, New York.
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