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
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.