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Michele Evans ’94

Alumnae Poet

Michele Evans ’94


Michele Evans, a fifth-generation Washingtonian (D.C.), is a writer, high school English teacher, and adviser for her school's literary magazine, Unbound. Despite always wearing the color black, she exhibits a certain fondness for blueberries, blue hydrangeas, blues musicians, and Blue Mountain coffee. Named a semifinalist for the 2023 Airlie Prize from Airlie Press, Michele Evans has been published in Artemis Journal, Tangled Locks, The Write Launch, and elsewhere. Her poem "anticlea" won first place in the 2023 ASP Bulletin poetry contest sponsored by Alan Squire Publishing. You can find her at or @awordsmithie on Instagram.

Selected Poem

[kah-rib-dee-ah] n. a sea monster in homer's odyssey    

this midnight beast compels my nervous stomach to howl as rosy fingertips
dive deeply into pools near the back of my throat. three times each day
i spew up sickness, whatever mom forced fed me before, this unhealthy
(life threatening ritual) way of carving too thick thighs, tree trunks
rooted in disguise because endless hundreds on worn tracks did nothing
for my never petite, never rock hard, never bikini ready bod,
so i flushed chunks, flesh outracing globs of bile, round and round until
eye won, till i was no longer (in)visible anymore.

mom always said nothing good happens after midnight, so when i get caught
between rock and hard place i know she is right before i tripped, facepalming
with white porcelain from years ago, too loudspeakers drowned out his true
intentions as my innocence grasped the frosted rosé he generously sent my way.
a vile poisonous pinch swirling round and round until melting on the glass floor
my shapeless body by the narrow alleyway door, where laid out on my back
i stared past nobody, a faceless lout from a distorted reality, the roof above
disappearing into a blackened sky as he swallowed me whole.

when mom released the refrain clogged in her windpipe, i discovered the big rocks
of her life metastasized. yellowed, like pages from a worn story, she “survived”
on a liquid diet cocktail, one part chemo, two parts faith, with a splash of radiation,
reducing her from trunk to twig, upchucking everything, sometimes nothing,
a nervous stomach feeding on what i use to starve. swallowed whole
by a [sic] headed monster, her wrinkly pink fingertips pressed together in prayer
refused to pay homage anymore so i watched her life whirlpool down the drain
littering the sea for one last midnight.


First published online - December 2022 in Tangled Locks Journal