Hunger Years
My only childhood
entrusted in
my mother’s kiss, soft
hand over my scraped
knee, clean ironed clothes
as the sea’s fragrance was
coming through open window
before bright neon
lights of the city appeared
hope and the oath I took
that, one way or
another, one day, I’d sit
comfortably at the big
table of the satiated
Libros Libertad 