Floodlights

perhaps my long hair won't save me
from those with blades that cut and maim
and leach it all down the drain 
I wanted to be Samson 
but you call me Isheba 
even now with these fingers fisting ashes
under my fingernails
my dear mother 
lives there
and I can't tell who's the one still holding on
but the lamp in Solomon's eyes 
says I already know
the Truth
how it singes and burns up 
even the saddest of fantasies 
repentance and a door so narrow
no room for attachments this deep
this buried beneath my tongue and 
hands that rake through hair
longer than a dream
that lasts until tomorrow 

I see it in my reflection 
on glass cast by floodlights in the night
behind a veil of smoke and wonder
why the fight demands
such a ferocious spirit
the need for intercession 
that crimson generosity 
I pray I am a worthy container