Rapunzel

As published in Loras College Catfish Creek, Volume 4, Spring 2014

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Rapunzel

I know

you’re just like me

behind cinder blocks and cement

bricks like the strong bones

of your legs and chest

you escape—

tower with one window

see the world,

separated.

We are women, you and I:

hearts, eyes, fingernails.

You sing and I write

it’s all the same—passions

that men cannot understand.

They see blue eyes, gold hair.

I know you let it down in necessity.

We’ve both fallen for strong hands

that can caress cheeks, climb towers.

I know you kissed him

because you felt you had to

chin stubble, probably brown eyes—

it’s always the brown eyes.

Believe me, I get it.

I know what it’s like

to look in that mirror and see the reflection

of empty grass fields below.

But who needs mirrors, Rapunzel?

You’re a goddamned woman.

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