belly buttons and beating hearts

I clung to my baby blanket that wrapped around my limbs. my limbs, small and swollen, cushioned by my mother's organs. I was warm, I clung to the insulation of two beating hearts. 

I came into the world kicking and crying. I came into this world and my baby blanket was taken from me. I have a belly button now. I developed toenails. I developed a conscience. I lose my warmth, sunlight is cold, I don't like it here. 

My body never forgets, I cling to my mother's hands, cling to my fetal position as I sleep in my big-girl bed. My freckles remember the sun, which is warmer than snow. My navel remembers my blanket, which everyone seemed to have. My nails remember the dirt, and my toes remember the sandbox. 

I forgot my mother tongue. I forgot crying and pointing. I forgot fantasies of unicorns and rainbows. I forgot dreams of being rich and famous. I had to learn how Greek letters fit into math. Or how to politely decline the men hollering at me. I had to learn how to deal with blood. 

Reunite me with my innocence, my home country. My lips are cracked and my throat is dry. I cling to my noose of pearls. Sunlight is hot, snow is cold. I will leave this world kicking

and

crying.