I grew up here.
I know the streets like the back of a passenger’s head on the subway train. I have tasted the freshly-killed animal anger that periodically implodes upon seeing a street survivor sleeping in a hallway under a newspaper blanket headlining the upside of the economy. Maybe it’s the memory of mami y papi struggling to pry their children loose from a one and a half room, immigrant-furnished apartment that makes me empathize with all the little great people forever reminding me where I came from. Therefore, it’s my natural choice to write their story from the most intimate poem to a class-action song of universal celebration.
© David Hernandez from Rooftop Piper