When Rapunzel was remanded for those many weeks
and months and years to live up in the highest reaches
of that tower, what mattered wasn’t that the prince learned
how to climb her hair up to her head as if it were a ladder –
no, her grievances about this cruelty were screamed out
very loud across the Alps; documented evidence concurs
it shattered eardrums. She’d shed no tears from altitude,
had no fear of heights. Neither had she much desire to reside
below. What interested Rapunzel was enclosure. Her much
renowned composure she accounted for by one delight
to which indentured life exposed her that she never knew
was possible until she lived those lovely solo hours in
a tower, with nobody to glower at her or to glower at.
She didn’t even miss her cat. What she learned was how
she could engender grace in semi-open chambers that
existed solely to provide a single seat. With increasing art
and frequency, she learned to make a place for secrecy.
Her neat designs for comfortable fancy huts that shut away
while showcasing her exultation of the Ideal Chair are very
rare, and coveted world-wide. Mostly she’d be glad that
we’ll forget her doltish husband, but will recollect the bride.