"Poem that wrote me into beast in order to be read.
Samira and Aziza, and Nabila Awatef and 3adaal,
Isis and Ma'at.
Yes, Ma'at of the 42 laws and ideals we used to live by.
You of white feather and commandment who made us,
taught us of stars and named them.
Named us made nout and systems of irrigation.
Nile Delta, source inventors of mead
and kohl for drawing of lapis and woven cloth.
Harp Sinai Berber pen and paper.
We were winged creatures, weren't we?
Tell me, because I still dream of flight.
Sometimes I trumpet waiting to be sound.
I who have made earrings of arrow.
Reporting now to you of the mythical creatures
I dismantled in order to become the one writing words
you are reading.
Tarsal by metatarsal, I disjointed false to be true.
Sometimes I am cell with eyes made up of five strand DNA
quintuple helix amoeba bond.
I would claim you as my ancestors thrice.
But once is honor.
I am trying to be worthy, live to have learned so much
that God made Arab to know what it is to be both black and Jew.
To be Arab is to beast in order to be read.
Like scripture etched calligraphy wooden metal,
I ask you to marvel at poetry.
They tried to make us forget in Guantanamo.
And all unnamed time, they will ask us of this time.
Come back again and again.
While we were out the world has become
image we made in our own image.
And this is what we hunt.
Now I've caught my reflection between incisors.
I, beasts of no nation, who are only to be read.
Excuse me, now it is time to be fed."