The body that demaractates me
Is the first barrier
That I pondered passing
I was four years old when
I first misplaced my tongue
When I
Slurped it down
Spurring my eyes shut
Puncturing an entrance
To a rear rescue room
I ran to grasp my body
I gasped to own it
Like one owns ceramic figurines
Crumbly convoys
Watching over a kitchen table
I wanted my body curled up
Crouched; Snuggled, Stretched
Spread on the floor like paste
Cowskin, a cow pulped up
You ask me
Tell me
What does it mean to be up-rooted
And I fail to explain that
It is as early as the morning
The childhood of the day
I was up-rooted a l o n g time ago
Long before my land burped me
Before I scooped a handful of earth
From a place that I treaded on
And treaded on me
Trying to store my senses
In a suitcase I threw on the way
I was up-rooted a long time ago
Before I started remembering myself
In the features of strangers
Their full lashes and arched eyebrows
Resembling history books’ Busra Colosseum
I was up-rooted a long time ago
Before I roamed cities
Trying to clean myself
Feeling like an itch
A clothing tag
Stubborn and unwanted
Yet neck close
You ask me
Tell me
What does it mean to be up-rooted
But I want to ask you back
To rephrase the question
Because I was born a foundling
And all I ever wanted to know is
How to repot myself