Efi Hatzimanolis #132 Unpicked II: Rapunzel

Hanging 

in a garden free of metaphors,

uncombed and undyed,

yet he found me.

I told him

to get knotted,

when first he tried climbing,

then parting my curtain.

He wouldn’t listen. Put his arms around me.

Whispered, how long have you been here? 

I don’t know your name. The birds don’t know your name.

Because

I’m a tree fern,

and because that’s my skirt, not my hair, 

to which he's clinging like a toddler,

I don’t answer.

But

he has feelings 

that have been awakened by my silence,

so he persists in shredding

his soft skin

all over me.