that I was born here
in a small red house
on the Connecticut River.
In the winter, we’d walk
by its strip of Listerine
blue ice,
knowing spring
would turn our prints
to water,
and water
to New England clay.
No. I am not
American.
For you, I am
from no country
but the East,
my body fragrant
as star anise.
I like how the author made the title apart of the first line and how the title is what the whole what she wrote this for how there is no use to say.
Makaya's writing 