Anyély Gómez-Dickerson
2 Poems
Hunger Is a Face
hunger is a face
it’s every face
all the faces you pass
the ones you avoid
swiping your phone this way
clicking your screen that way
you couldn’t see the woman outside the bodega
sitting on the cracked concrete
her hand reaching for you—too busy—too late
or you couldn’t be bothered.
hunger is a face—her name is Magalys
the face of Otherness
not yours
never yours
always others—not you
definitely not me
never me.
the face of hunger
stains other people’s faces
like a permanent mask
a nagging mask—demanding attention
an unclean mask—smeared with poverty
the mask of struggle
the one we avoid—and her name is Magalys
Ode to Papá Who Eats At Work
Mamí made a small pot of white rice because
la vecina gave her some yesterday for helping housesit last month.
Mi hermana, Yaquí brought three chicken patties from the school
cafeteria that mamí crisped in the oven and sliced into strips.
Ramón opened and heated two cans of El Ebro’s Tamal en Cazuela
with pork that he borrowed from the stockroom at work.
Tía Joséfa opened and heated a can of El Ebro’s frijoles negros
she borrowed off the bodega shelves after her double shift was over.
And I made a nice carrot salad from tiny bags of baby carrots I rescued from
the school cafeteria trashcans along with two packets of ranch dressing.
At 7 PM sharp our small folding table was set for Friday dinner
Its six folding chairs in a tight arrangement over the linoleum floor
A clean embroidered bedsheet serving as our tablecloth and mamí’s
Dollar-store mismatched set of paper plates, plasticware, and cups
And a special array of dishes that industriously come together once a week
As every hard-fought dish adorns the modest table—a kaleidoscope of
Flavors and colors—from my bright orange carrots to the gleaming white rice
We’re ready to devour every bit and crumb, to the last drop of bean sauce.
When papa is late
we sit and wait
and once he’s home
as if on a throne
he takes his seat at one end of the table
on a rickety chair that’s completely unstable.
He sips his black coffee and watches us eat—desperately
hungrily
And when mamí offers him a bit to eat
He lies and says he ate at work
But I sit near enough to hear
His stomach growl—his heart warmed by our smiles.
BIO
Anyély Gómez-Dickerson was born in Cuba and immigrated to the U.S. on a leaky boat in 1980. She grew up in Miami, Florida where she earned a minor in Poetry and Shakespearean Studies from Florida International University followed by her Bachelor of Science in Education from Temple University. After a twenty-three-year career as an English teacher designing creative writing and poetry curricula to empower students and publishing their literary journals, she retired to give her writing the full attention it demanded. For her, being a Latina writer means creating art with “teeth” that sheds light on issues and injustices plaguing our communities to foster tough conversations needed to catapult change. Her projects explore her own white, black, and Taína history going back to Cuba’s slavery period and exploitation under Spain. Anyély is honored to be published alongside such incredible writers. She currently resides in Hawaii with her better half, in her new island home away from home and can be followed on twitter @BooksByAngie or on her site at anyelywrites.wordpress.com