Shelter Feast
Morning is a numbed galley, in vain
I try to move it with oars
frozen in ice, it won’t budge.
But a little movement would be enough
and all might melt into a song.
I’m hungry, my heart begins to roar
I won’t open the door to anyone
my home already is a shelter. With their mouth closed
my uninvited guests chew. Only
one bite they have been turning in their mouths for
years.
I’m waiting for them to swallow it and
to thank me for having them here.
Libros Libertad 