The Poetry of Karla Huston | ||
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ANTI-RAPUNZEL after Julia Alvarez |
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If you really think some prince climbed her hair
to woo and save her, think again. Okay, I'll go along with a hot guy on a fast horse and some fantastic promises, and maybe Rapunzel was swept off her tresses when he climbed off her ladder mane. And I believe her birth-mother could've been under the throes of an urgent pregnancy hunger, wanting her neighbor's rampion enough to ask her husband steal for it. But I can't swallow those poor peasants giving away their kid for a few salad greens. Still I remember being pregnant and lusting over a plate of fresh asparagus. Why is every wizened woman, protecting her property, a witch or an evil step-mother? Have a little compassion. And Rapunzel trapped in that doorless, stairless tower? How did she go to the bathroom; no slop pot was ever mentioned in the story. And no shower? She must have been as ripe as mushy plums and that hair, (do you believe twenty yards of it?) must've had the texture of dreadlocks on steroids. Nowadays kindness doesn't cut it anymore. And the girl no older than fifteen? Enticing her is an arrestable offense these days. Later the now-blind prince finds her wandering in the desert alone and singing. Her tears of joy cure him. Okay, here's where I stop. And when he leads her back to his kingdom to be his princess forever, all she has to do is learn how to dip and bow, maybe kiss her mother-in-law's ankles now and then and smile, for godsakes, where's that happy smile? |
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Previously published in New Zoo Poetry Review
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