sat test 

the test will detonate 
when you are a first-born eel. 
the test will call you "mother"
if you find the question used to determine
whether or not you grew up
in a place with big money. i did not
grow up in a place with big money
& so the question bit my finger &
the proctor put her finger to her lips
& uttered a "shush." 
i cannot believe there are still sitting children
with pencils in their teeth. a screen opens
to reveal a trophy. someone was 
the smartest in the eyes of the hungry state.
someone was worthy in the sense that
their blood tastes like oranges & is not
prone to rebellion. i remember 
the bathroom after the exam. all the children
from other schools. their soft fingers
& the pink soap they used to scrub
their hands. my score was mediocre
which at the time devastated me but now 
i feel proud. do not let them
swallow your thoughts. do not let them
measure you. to be measured is to be
destroyed. i am as tall as the great oak tree
that once stood above my elementary school
but is now just a stump where
older kids go to sit & look up at the sun. 
i am as small as the toads whose throats
fill with trumps in the late season when
they are debating when they should
turn back into stones for the winter.
a timer went off. a door opened. 
in the parking lot i wiped my palms 
on my thighs. i do not remember who 
drove me or why. the day, a can of black beans.
lid pried open. mouths gathering. 
some people will tell you "future" & mean
"capture" & some will say it like a root.
hold on to the root. dig them up
only when the season is right. feast.
the legs in the dark. the timer going off
in a cloud. decide what parts you are willing
to feed the question machine & which 
are only tell to the crows & the dead deer
& the man without a face who meets you
beneath the oak tree that is no longer there.