My Hair
By Robin Behn
When I gather my long
leaf-colored hair
and make of it a stem
and twist the handle of my head
and join it back to me
with metal pins
I’m on your lap again
my hands are in the air
my view is mile upon mile
I feel you fashioning the serpent
on my head and the thick braid
of you inside me
I’m ready now to enter
a prim public place
where I am the teacher the police a saint
I turn my back
and everyone I command
sees what it can be to be commanded
