My Hair

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