The child licks its fingers,
the plate in front of it, clean
no trace of food in it,
looks at her pleadingly
for one more bite.
Her eyes, moist
survey the left out belongings;
her sewing machine
the only one now feeds them
and the gold medallion
that boosts her confidence to fight back.
Now only one question remains.
Which one can be quickly bartered
to appease her kid’s appetite?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem