The park was typical today, couples strolling,
holding hands, kissing, one woman watching,
I knew what she was thinking, I used to have
the same thoughts. I should have told her love
My priest said Jesus had golden hair,
was the son of Mary and Joseph;
was crucified for my sins––and I believed,
I read about a man who wanted to trade his savings,
some melons, and a piano built by his enslaved relatives,
for a plot of land.
Some say Sambo wears
blues and greens
I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the pots,
tired of my mouth and my breasts,
tired of the cosmetics and the silks.