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