Scheherazading Rapunzel

(recasting an old fairy tale)

My hair has grown to the ground
waiting for the one with the ruby
tongue, his hands weaving false
promises into the empassioned air, but

four empty summers have passed by now.
Another man stands underneath my window.
He has caught my tears with his fingertips
and kissed them, tossed me fresh rice cakes,
lathered with honey, as a treat.

Hair finally within reach, he
hesitates, begins his climb.
Do I cut my Repunzel braid? I ask,
and wait faithful in this tower forever?

His eyes light like black opals
as he draws near, bading me,'say yes'.
A redbird circles his head.
I think of Beth's blood and her
loveknot, her highwayman dead
on that ghostly galleon-lit road.

I know that death can come from
loving flamboyant, sweet talking men,
but Mother told me to always believe
fairy tales do come true.

I'd rather opt for this new tale, Mother,
than one filled with unraveled promises,
dwarfs, or a toad that wants kissing.

I set my scissors aside, toss
out my wedding gown; it billows
among the clouds. Yes,
this one will be my faithful Scheherazade,
my mongrel to bay at the moon with.