Sometimes when I find a piece for the Wilds, I have a hard time putting into words why I like it, and want you to read it, too. I feel strongly about the narratives I choose, but because I approach writing as a cognitive and linguistic minded reader, I can be unseated by powerful poems, like Ingrid Calderon’s ‘mama,’ which just sucker punched me with feelings. As a writer, I appreciate the precision of her stanzas and her powerful imagery, but as a woman of color and daughter I want to share a raw and honest response—trying to capture how I feel about this poem. I wanted to clench my fists until my blood thrummed in my veins. I wanted to drink dark chocolate and eat fresh-plucked greens until I felt overfull. I wanted to hold my mother’s hand. I wanted to listen for all the birds of the morning. I wanted to share it with you and hope you feel the power of her poem, too.