TOLD NOT TO CUT MY HAIR BUT I AM NO SAMSON

poetry by Anna Short

TOLD NOT TO CUT MY HAIR BUT I AM NO SAMSON

I thought of shaving my head

the feel of razor and water

clean against my scalp

thought of every time my mother

begged me not to cut my hair

thought of the blood

staining the sink

 

a moment’s distraction

a split end

tear it up

to the root

 

what does she want from me?

a tower? a song?

hair long enough to climb down?

 

I find every strand

a symptom of something nurtured

cut it like the end of some Greek drama

 

if I did I know I could breathe

feel my lungs expand

my head would never

have felt so light

my skull a fertile ground

like earth after purposeful fire

 

it would incubate a marvel

a cold star in damp soil

 

the hollow of my throat

is ready to sing a nebula

sound the bells

a birth is coming

DIGGING

poetry by Anna Short

DIGGING

the world under this one has to be

dug up and drunk like good wine on a bad night

it is sweet this earth below us you’ve got to taste

it like brown sugar still soft and dark with molasses

the grains stick to the space between my fingers

they scrub me away from bitterness you should

place your hand in mine and try it this rough caring

Anna Short was born and raised in southern Michigan. She is pursuing an MFA in creative writing at Bowling Green State University. Her work has been featured in Pleiades and the Southern Indiana Review.

Anna Short

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