How I wish to nestle

In the flavor and smoke of your supper.


When I lived a homeless citizen,

Missing every ingredient of ancestry.


Whenever you string with dexterity,

The oregano, the soil and the wheat.


Filling in my cups a nostalgia worth to weep,

As the motherhood redeems my dying innocence.


The fruition of labors, withered dreams and secret treats.

When food and memories didn’t have to be refrigerated.


Every natural delicacy straight from the earth,

Covering the rooftop of my truth and your cuisine.