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<channel><title><![CDATA[Poetry X Hunger - Childhood Hunger]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger]]></link><description><![CDATA[Childhood Hunger]]></description><pubDate>Tue, 07 Apr 2026 19:25:43 -0400</pubDate><generator>Weebly</generator><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Megan Schliesman]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-megan-schliesman]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-megan-schliesman#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 11 Feb 2026 05:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Megan Schliesman]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-megan-schliesman</guid><description><![CDATA[PotatoesDelicious when mashed and covered in gravy, orCubed and tossed with olive oil, paprika,fresh rosemary and garlic before beingroasted as part of my favorite sheet pan supper,fat from chicken thighs crisping each morsel to sublime, orBaked whole and topped with butter, sour creamand more sour cream, orFrench fried, of course, orBoiled baby reds with butter, lemon and parsley, orSliced and fried in Grandma&rsquo;s cast iron skillet,seasoned with just salt and pepper, orHashed browned, orPur [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><strong>Potatoes</strong><br /><br />Delicious when mashed and covered in gravy, or<br /><br />Cubed and tossed with olive oil, paprika,<br />fresh rosemary and garlic before being<br />roasted as part of my favorite sheet pan supper,<br />fat from chicken thighs crisping each morsel to sublime, or<br /><br />Baked whole and topped with butter, sour cream<br />and more sour cream, or<br /><br />French fried, of course, or<br /><br />Boiled baby reds with butter, lemon and parsley, or<br /><br />Sliced and fried in Grandma&rsquo;s cast iron skillet,<br />seasoned with just salt and pepper, or<br /><br />Hashed browned, or<br /><br />Pureed with leeks and stock into soup,<br />but not<br /><br />Raw from a field at the edge of my childhood<br />where we&rsquo;d been told we could take ones<br />left behind after harvest, not<br /><br />The farmer, when he arrived, gruff and angry, not<br /><br />My mother, on her knees in the dirt,<br />offering to put them back, not<br /><br />&#8203;him, waving her away.<br /><br /><em><strong><font size="2">THEME:&nbsp;<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Childhood Hunger, How food can elicit a memory of scarcity</span></font></strong></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <div class="paragraph"><strong>BIO:</strong>&nbsp;<span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)">Megan Schliesman lives in Madison, Wisconsin. A retired librarian, Megan's professional work and writing concentrated on children's and young adult literature and intellectual freedom in libraries and classrooms. In retirement she&rsquo;s broadened her writing focus while continuing to often grapple with challenges to democracy and Constitutional rights in our country.</span><br /></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Marianna Boncek]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-marianna-boncek]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-marianna-boncek#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Thu, 08 Jan 2026 05:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Marianna Boncek]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-marianna-boncek</guid><description><![CDATA[Bon Bon Terre&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Christmas 2025I watch a videoon which a womanexplains how to makeBon Bon Tere,Dirt Cookies.The cookies are madewith sanitized dirt,some salt,and margarine.They have no nutritional value.In Haiti, they are fed to hungry childrenwho have nothing else to eat.Later that same day,my partner and Iare walking on a winter sidewalkwhich is liberally spread with salt.A man walking his dog,gently picks him up,tucks him under his arm,and walks ac [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph">Bon Bon Terre<br /><em>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Christmas 2025</em><br /><br />I watch a video<br />on which a woman<br />explains how to make<br />Bon Bon Tere,<br />Dirt Cookies.<br />The cookies are made<br />with sanitized dirt,<br />some salt,<br />and margarine.<br />They have no nutritional value.<br />In Haiti, they are fed to hungry children<br />who have nothing else to eat.<br /><br />Later that same day,<br />my partner and I<br />are walking on a winter sidewalk<br />which is liberally spread with salt.<br />A man walking his dog,<br />gently picks him up,<br />tucks him under his arm,<br />and walks across the salt littered sidewalk.<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;ll hurt his paws,&rdquo; the man explains.<br /><br />How do I reconcile that I live in a world<br />where hungry children eat dirt<br />and well-fed dogs are carried to protect their paws.<br /><br /><em><strong><font size="2">THEME: Childhood Hunger</font></strong></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.poetryxhunger.com/uploads/1/2/5/7/125799040/published/me4-marianna-boncek.jpg?250" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="display:block;"><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)">Marianna Boncek is a writer and teaches in an MFA program. She writes across the genre having published 2 books of nonfiction, two novels and a short collection of poetry. Her plays have also been featured in the Hudson Valley Play Festival. Her poem "Bittersweet" won the 2021 Stephen Dibiase poetry prize. She lives in New York's Hudson Valley with her partner, Dave and her two cats Sputnik and Couper.</span></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Alida Franco]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-alida-franco]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-alida-franco#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Thu, 08 Jan 2026 05:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Alida Franco]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-alida-franco</guid><description><![CDATA[Desert CryChildren of Gaza&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; forgotten by allHow has the world forsaken you.Having no mightThey starve you,&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;bomb you,&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; drive you from your home.Where once you&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ran, and played with&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><strong>Desert Cry<br /></strong><br />Children of Gaza<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; forgotten by all<br />How has the world forsaken you.<br /><br />Having no might<br />They starve you,<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;bomb you,<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; drive you from your home.<br /><br />Where once you<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ran, and played with<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;friends close, now scattered<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; beyond collection.<br /><br />Where families<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; joined together<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; in celebrations gone.<br /><br />The price to pay is dear.<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Too dear for<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; innocence lost without permission.<br /><br />What right is given to those<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; who commit the<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; unconscionable acts.<br /><br />Children of Gaza<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;I want you to know<br />This voice hears your cry<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Knows your suffering<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Each of you --<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Not forgotten.<br /><br />Children of Gaza<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;live so that<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; you may tell your story.<br /><br /><em><strong><font size="2">THEME: Childhood Hunger</font></strong></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.poetryxhunger.com/uploads/1/2/5/7/125799040/franco-enlarged-3-alida-franco.png?250" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;">Alida Franco&rsquo;s academic training was in French/English Literature (BA: Oakland University) and Applied Linguistics/English (MA: Colorado State University, Fort Collins, Colorado). At a friends&rsquo; request, she recently attended a creative writer&rsquo;s symposium, which she thoroughly enjoyed, and realized how much she had missed writing. She is now drawn to poetry because of the power of the word and its openness and linguistic flexibility in both structure and language.</div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Maggie Bloomfield]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-maggie-bloomfield]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-maggie-bloomfield#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Wed, 26 Nov 2025 05:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Maggie Bloomfield]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-maggie-bloomfield</guid><description><![CDATA[Humpty DumptyHumpty Dumpty wobbled on the wall.The children below bellowed for a fall.Humpty, the last of his kind,hid tears behind his spectacles.He knew his fate, written long ago.There were no eggs left to feed the children,the chickens all dead from bird flu.The children were hungry and cruel.One threw a stone.Humpty struggled to keep his balance,but too late.The fall was great.His last memory was the crackof his shell as he hitthe pavement.The children rushed to lickHumpty&rsquo;s golden re [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><strong>Humpty Dumpty</strong><br /><br />Humpty Dumpty wobbled on the wall.<br />The children below bellowed for a fall.<br />Humpty, the last of his kind,<br />hid tears behind his spectacles.<br />He knew his fate, written long ago.<br />There were no eggs left to feed the children,<br />the chickens all dead from bird flu.<br />The children were hungry and cruel.<br />One threw a stone.<br />Humpty struggled to keep his balance,<br />but too late.<br />The fall was great.<br />His last memory was the crack<br />of his shell as he hit<br />the pavement.<br />The children rushed to lick<br />Humpty&rsquo;s golden remains from the cement.<br />The king, all his horses, and all his men<br />laughed and left the scene,<br />for they had their own secret stash<br />of chickens back at the palace,<br />and they weren&rsquo;t sharing those birds with<br />&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; <em>Nobody!<br /><br /><font size="2"><strong style="">THEME:</strong> Childhood Hunger</font></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.poetryxhunger.com/uploads/1/2/5/7/125799040/published/maggie-photo-nov-2022-maggie-bloomfield.jpeg?250" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;"><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)">Maggie Bloomfield is a therapist/performer/published/award-winning poet, and an EMMY award winner for lyrics on Sesame Street. She has published two chapbooks, Trains of Thought, Local Gems Press, (2016) and Sleepless Nights (Finishing Line Press,(2019). Maggie holds an MFA from Stony Brook, Southampton (SBSH) and co-hosts Poetry Street, a monthly poetry venue in Riverhead, NY.<br /><strong><a href="http://www.maggiebloomfield.com" target="_blank">www.maggiebloomfield.com</a></strong></span></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Jess]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-jess]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-jess#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Fri, 31 Oct 2025 04:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Jess]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-jess</guid><description><![CDATA[&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; SNAPSometimes, I still remember, the despair in your eyes,As we lined up in the checkout line,Nine boxes of hamburger helper,I think I&rsquo;m too pretty to have to eat.So I sit at the table and pretend to maneuver around my plate,Thinking one day, I&rsquo;ll sit in beautiful restaurants with pretty black plates,And he&rsquo;ll tell me I can order whatever I want...Mcdonald&rsquo;s a late nig [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><strong>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; SNAP</strong><br /><br />Sometimes, I still remember, the despair in your eyes,<br />As we lined up in the checkout line,<br />Nine boxes of hamburger helper,<br />I think I&rsquo;m too pretty to have to eat.<br />So I sit at the table and pretend to maneuver around my plate,<br />Thinking one day, I&rsquo;ll sit in beautiful restaurants with pretty black plates,<br />And he&rsquo;ll tell me I can order whatever I want...<br />Mcdonald&rsquo;s a late night drunk stop,<br />Not an thirty-five minute walk,<br />Once a month, as a &ldquo;treat&rdquo; in a South Texas parking lot.<br />Minimum wage is three dollars, so we dig for quarters in corners of couches,<br />For the black bags of laundry we load into grocery carts,<br />To walk thirty five minutes, across from the Once A Month Mcdonalds,<br />And then walk our clean clothes, back in black bags and grey carts,<br />Sweating up and down hills through Los Angeles heights,<br />Clothes we just washed, sweating among their own socks.<br />The four of us live on Lone Star, SNAP in other states,<br />It&rsquo;s hardly enough, for older brother in football.<br />Eldest daughter in swim.<br />Jars of .95 cent Ragus and .50 cent spaghetti noodles,<br />Topped with American cheese, made in bulk.<br />And the girl in me just wants to snap,<br />Watching her try to even entertain Thanksgiving.<br />So I eat extra at school and friends houses.<br />Twenty years later, just me,<br />I still pray and near cry in grocery lines,<br />Even though I know my card won&rsquo;t decline.</div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <div class="paragraph"><strong>BIO:</strong>&nbsp;<span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)">Jess is a Mexican American writer and human rights activist from South Texas. She has been published by the International Human Rights Art Movement, Writers Resist, Missing Perspectives and Dissent Voices. She is nominated for a PEN Robert Dau and Pushcart Short Story Prize. Her work focus on intergenerational trauma, reconciliation through narrative power and Mexican American experience in America.</span></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Faith Paulsen]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-faith-paulsen]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-faith-paulsen#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Mon, 08 Sep 2025 04:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Faith Paulsen]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-faith-paulsen</guid><description><![CDATA[The Day Six Hundred Eighty Five Thousand Boxes of Plumpy&rsquo;Nut -- Paid For -- Expire*&ldquo;A starving child on the brink of death can be brought back with a specialty peanut paste,Plumpy&rsquo;Nut, costing just $1 a day.&rdquo; Nicholas KristofThe hot afternoon spills its entrailsonto the macadam.In our yard the whitetails I love despite their appetiteforage through my blue stars like teenagers at a buffet.Above the cracked stone birdbath,sparrows scounge.You replace the propane tank.I hand [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><strong>The Day Six Hundred Eighty Five Thousand Boxes of Plumpy&rsquo;Nut -- Paid For -- Expire*</strong><br /><br />&ldquo;A starving child on the brink of death can be brought back with a specialty peanut paste,<br />Plumpy&rsquo;Nut, costing just $1 a day.&rdquo; Nicholas Kristof<br /><br />The hot afternoon spills its entrails<br />onto the macadam.<br /><br />In our yard the whitetails I love despite their appetite<br />forage through my blue stars like teenagers at a buffet.<br /><br />Above the cracked stone birdbath,<br />sparrows scounge.<br /><br />You replace the propane tank.<br />I handi-wipe pollen off the porch table.<br /><br />At the local high school graduation, empty folding chairs<br />stand in for proud immigrant parents.<br /><br />A billionaire rents Venice for his wedding feast.<br />Workers pave over the White House Rose Garden.<br /><br />A lawn mower drones. We shut the windows,<br />run the A/C 24/7. Like it or not,<br /><br />the noise boomerangs,<br />follows us into the house,<br /><br />where we order furniture from Wayfair,<br />track our heart rates, cycles, the news.<br /><br />A crane pries the letters off the building<br />where USAID used to administer aid programs.<br /><br />The flatware rattles. We wait our turn to speak.<br />Our humanity forks us; we are a university of dunces.<br /><br />We crave carbohydrates.<br />The clock clocks us.<br /><br />An ice cream truck jingles.<br />No children appear.<br /><br />&#8203;Like it or not, we are tethered. The buck<br />turns his hindquarters to us<br /><br />in full view of invisible children, who proceed to fade away--<br />Starving for $1 of Plumpy&rsquo;Nut each.<br /><br /><em><font size="2"><strong style="">THEME: </strong>Childhood Hunger</font></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:329px;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.poetryxhunger.com/uploads/1/2/5/7/125799040/published/faith-headshot-w-grogu-faith-paulsen.jpg?1762136317" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="display:block;"><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)"><span>Faith Paulsen writes poetry from her desk at an insurance agency near Philadelphia. Her work appears in Blue Heron, Mania Magazine, Poetica Review, Philadelphia Stories, Book of Matches, One Art, Panoply, Thimble Literary Magazine, and chapbooks Cyanomoeter (Finishing Line Press) and We Marry We Bury We Sing or We Weep (Moonstone Press). </span><span style="color:rgb(17, 85, 204)"><a target="_blank" href="https://www.faithpaulsenpoet.com/">www.faithpaulsenpoet.com</a></span></span></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Poem by Connie S. Brady]]></title><link><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-connie-s-brady]]></link><comments><![CDATA[https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-connie-s-brady#comments]]></comments><pubDate>Sun, 24 Aug 2025 04:00:00 GMT</pubDate><category><![CDATA[Connie S. Brady]]></category><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.poetryxhunger.com/childhood-hunger/poem-by-connie-s-brady</guid><description><![CDATA[The StrawberriesWe gorge ourselves on summer fruit,The deep red strawberries drippingJuice down our handsAs I open a text, seeA photograph from hell.I push my dinner aside&mdash;Warm tortillas filled with beans, rice, salsa,Fresh lettuce, chopped tomatoes, sliced avocadoThat could feed four people. StareAt the cold glass filled with lemonade.Instead of eating, I want to fastFor the skeletons on the front pageOf The New York Times&mdash;Children, babies.No food, no water, no aid.No end to misery. [...] ]]></description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="paragraph"><em><strong>The Strawberries</strong><br /></em><br />We gorge ourselves on summer fruit,<br />The deep red strawberries dripping<br />Juice down our hands<br />As I open a text, see<br />A photograph from hell.<br />I push my dinner aside&mdash;<br />Warm tortillas filled with beans, rice, salsa,<br />Fresh lettuce, chopped tomatoes, sliced avocado<br />That could feed four people. Stare<br />At the cold glass filled with lemonade.<br />Instead of eating, I want to fast<br />For the skeletons on the front page<br />Of The New York Times&mdash;<br />Children, babies.<br />No food, no water, no aid.<br />No end to misery.<br />Too late.<br />Drops of water on tongues<br />Too late.<br />Morsels of bread<br />Too late.&nbsp;<br />Mankind&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />Too late.<br />We&rsquo;ve had 300,000 years<br />To learn to care.<br />I fast, praying for food,<br />Water, medicine<br />As if it&rsquo;s not<br />Too late while a mother watches<br />Her child, shot when reaching for food,<br />Die in her arms.<br />Blood drips down her hands.<br />Our hands.<br /><br /><em><strong><font size="2">THEME: Childhood Hunger</font></strong></em><br /></div>  <div><div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div> <hr class="styled-hr" style="width:100%;"></hr> <div style="height: 20px; overflow: hidden; width: 100%;"></div></div>  <span class='imgPusher' style='float:left;height:0px'></span><span style='display: table;width:auto;position:relative;float:left;max-width:100%;;clear:left;margin-top:0px;*margin-top:0px'><a><img src="https://www.poetryxhunger.com/uploads/1/2/5/7/125799040/published/connie-s-brady-author-pic-chivas-sandage.png?250" style="margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; border-width:0; max-width:100%" alt="Picture" class="galleryImageBorder wsite-image" /></a><span style="display: table-caption; caption-side: bottom; font-size: 90%; margin-top: -10px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;" class="wsite-caption"></span></span> <div class="paragraph" style="text-align:left;display:block;"><span style="color:rgb(0, 0, 0)">Connie S. Brady is a writer whose articles, interviews, and reviews have appeared in Women&rsquo;s Wear Daily, the Houston Chronicle, Houston Post, Galveston News, Arkansas Democrat, Key Magazine, and others. Born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, she witnessed the integration crisis from next door, as crosses burned in the yards of neighbors&mdash;both editors for the local newspapers. Brady is at work on a memoir. She lives in Houston.</span></div> <hr style="width:100%;clear:both;visibility:hidden;"></hr>]]></content:encoded></item></channel></rss>