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 

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