My god put a whole star anise on my plate for my suffering
God stripped me of my racism
He took everything that I had

My wit, my language, my eyelashes, my feet, my movements, my seasons
Not to mention my looks and my vibrations
He took them again and again

I was at the bottom of the heap, and then I was at the top of the heap
I was in demand, and then I was nothing
I was a man, and then I was a sad woman. My sad face drove in a car

My eyes were pigs for the open road
In deed I’m someone in need of a gift

My god will strip me of my life and give me a sweet star for my suffering

Originally published in White Wall Review 41 (2017)