They cut off our hair
& there we were
Hairless.
A photograph
In a history i skimmed
So quick
I missed
We were there
Less than elsewhere
Our hair cut
So close the scalp
Gleamed
A row of six
Pixelated moons
Blood rose
To its feet
Our hair not ours
Once separated
Like a finger
Nail
The gold
From our teeth
Our hair burned
Made upholstery
Braided for women
Down the street
There on the page
The photograph
A camp A cage
Right angles
Impossible
Sharp as a fade
Razors in drag
Black boots & blades
I pull the image up
On my screen
Thumb the six
Bare heads
Sex organs
My face
My face
I’m alive of course
Because others died
& i’ll be survived
By no one
[amen] [amen] [amen]
My gift
To this planet
Extinction
The singed end
Of a family line
Today a man sits
Beside me
At the piano & plays
A song
My name’s in it
The one about a man
Rendered powerless
By the woman
Who takes his hair
Even here
With his breath
A flatiron
I’m standing
Between twin pillars
My arms cargo
Hardly mine
When he’s done
I take him
To bed & empty
My family
Into his darkness
Apologizing
[I’m sorry]
Again & again [i’m sorry] [i’m sorry]
Though i can’t quite say
Why
Copyright © 2017 sam sax. Used with permission of the author. This poem originally appeared in Tin House, Fall 2017.