by Leora Marialicia González
I am from where the sun shines till the moon rises,
Where the Cuban coffee is always hot so that the brothers and sisters have it fresh all the time.
I’m from where the I love yous aren’t said, but the hugs are free for the taking.
I’m from where the shouting from the kitchen “¡niños ayúdame!” is as plentiful as the black beans and rice.
I’m from where the cold wind cuts sharp,
And the sun burns like a hot skillet.
From the island of escape and the shores of a dream come true.
I’m from where everyone got s.e.p.a.r.a.t.e.d.
But everyone stayed tight.
Me? I’m from where there is… no home.