They asked us if we had sisters. We 

Were scared, guns pointing at us ready to strike.

Eric told them “it's me and mama.” with a sister it was difficult to go straight.

We chased wild dogs, stealing their puppies. We 

Had no plans. We had forgotten about school. Some of us could sing 

the ABC. School was killing birds, lighting dry fields on fire was a habit. Sin

was an act we gave home to. We 

Were the devil’s kids, they said, thin

little boys. We wanted to be like the soldier who drank gin

Waiting for someone's sister to do whatever they normally did to them. We

did everything carelessly, we danced and sang to the African Jazz.

“Anita” was the song. Climbed banana trees in June.

Ten years later in America, we barely touched a tree. We 

Knew the life of a refugee. Die 

Soon.