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Photo by Jesse Kincaid Photo from the Bread&Roses Newsletter Archive
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Mimi will be remembered, perhaps quietly — but deeply.
As a voice that didn’t seek the spotlight, yet changed the room when it sang. As someone who believed music was not decoration, but service. As a woman who understood that art and justice belong together.
She’ll be remembered for Bread and Roses — not just the organization, but the idea: that people deserve beauty alongside dignity. For bringing music into prisons, hospitals, places forgotten or avoided, and treating everyone there as fully human.
She’ll be remembered as a folk singer, yes — but also as a listener.
As someone whose songs carried grief, resilience, tenderness, and resolve without ever needing to shout.
And for those who knew her personally, she’ll be remembered in smaller ways: the way she spoke, the way she showed up, the way she made space. The kind of presence that lingers long after the sound fades. Not loudly remembered. But lovingly.
And for a very long time.
