Of Raw Rootage. By Anna Polibina-Polansky Comments

I was born a black princess at an Eastern lost, abandonned, hardly populated village, in order that I could afford myself ties and composing lines of them, plainly, not intricately, blankly even. I am lost in ties, I am spoilt with wrong routes up tangled by moot forecasts and acute prefeelings. And yet, the entire itinerary proves to be unforeseen, of fresh gulps of wrong air. I am excluded from the royal row, and the utmost steps remain unoccupied, if not dismissed. Black rootage stirs blankly, at random, unforetellably. Fresh morphology destroys prior principiality. Impeccable dark ancestry lingers at its rude uniqueness, irrepeatability at quite starkly other, though adjacent, races.2022
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