Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Rapunzel's Ranch

Let down your hair,
Rapunzel.
Let down your hair,
Rapunzel,
and join us.
That’s what they’d say to her.
But she couldn’t join them.
Poor Rapunzel
was stuck in her fucking castle,
the one her mother bought for her.
The one her mother thought would be romantic.
All alone on the hill night after fucking night
with no way down.
Just her pen and her sword
and her needle
and the sound of nightingales
to keep her company.
Poor Rapunzel,
why didn’t some fucker bring her a ladder?
Couldn’t they see how lonely she was?
Why did they tell her to come down
knowing she had no way down
except to fall out of the window
and on to her pretty yellow head?
Miserable jerks.
Poor Rapunzel.
She sat there night after night
waiting and hoping she could find a way out of her
1950’s Ranch house,
the one with the outdated appliances and pink tile bathroom.
But no one would come.
No one would even look.
Why?
Because everyone wanted granite and stainless steel.
Sure her home
was safe.
And quiet.
But who wants that?
Not the guy with the Porsche
who pulled into the driveway briefly
then sped away
to the East
where all the new restaurants were springing up like toads.
If only Rapunzel had listened to herself and bought the little 1920’s cottage on Carden
instead of listening to her mother,
she would be rich now.
“That one had a sidewalk in front of it and new appliances,” she thought.
“I could have just walked out my front door
instead of waiting for someone to come and find me.”
Yes, Rapunzel,
you could have.