Shadow Boxes of Rapunzel plus poems

Posted: November 29, 2012 in Home

This is the poem I talked about on Wednesday, which takes the Red Riding Hood fairy story as a simultaneous tale of rape and violence


All her fault.

The trees are running, running.
Damp grass streams under my feet
until the redness of her coat
in the sun-stripe, through the trees;
the crimson of her coat congealing.

And the forest stops: only the file
of my breathing goes on, to and fro
across such longing for her heart’s
red secrets. My hollow teeth ache
for that pale throat turned to honey
by the yellow flowers she holds.

Her smile feeds the hungers
of my eyes. She doesn’t see.
She’s looking for the wink of primroses,
for the droop-neck anemones bending
in the gentle music of the trees.
I leap ahead. She doesn’t see me go.

And under the whispering thatch
the old lady won’t stop.
The old lady won’t stop.
The old lady won’t stop.
I put my hand across her mouth.

This is a crisp new linen
of silence. Now I’m stretching out
to pick my teeth and wait.

It’s all her fault.

and these are my Rapunzel shadow boxes, plus my poem about Rapunzel…

Song of Rapunzel

I live in this smooth “o”.
which has no entrance
but the window and
the ladder of my yellow hair.
My mouth opens: how I sing!

In here it’s dark and secret,
red plush, such a warm hollow.
Your face turns towards
my subtle chant; these walls,
and how to scale them?

The sorceress runs upwards,
spider-wise. The thread quivers.
There are doors which you must open.
Your thoughts harden on my
snug interiors, blind caves.

Now you must call and enter:
“Your hair, Rapunzel.” But
she has my place, tops the shaft.
The bird is flown, and the cat
will have the best of you.

You’ll fumble for my music.
Soon, I will see you blind
and heal you with my tears.


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