Our Sampson

He stares too long

We pretend not to see the hunger but

He consumes our voices

As if they have been made for him

He is not the only professor to tell me

That my chin juts forward 

But he is the only one to fix it by pulling my hair 

It doesn’t work. I resist so much my scalp hurts.

It is not his only correction

My hips always unaligned 

His friendship requires silence

And cheerful acquiescence

We know where he gets his power

But we don’t know how far up it goes

My jaw grows tight and sore

From biting my tongue

Miles and years later 

I dream I bring scissors to his classroom 

While another sings, I cut off his

Four inch, curly ponytail

He trains his shocked eyes on me

And melts to a puddle on the ground

In his place, I see eight birds

They feed, and then fly out the open window, chirping happily 

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