People always ask me why I wear my hair long.
Let me tell you this: It’s not just because of that woman
Who climbs past my defenses at night time
Only to give me bread and water
(when I, in turn, suck the youth out of her).
It’s not just because of that lone boy who often watches
and waits for god knows who.
I was the very one who threw him into blindness.
It’s not just for the bards who have to maintain the consistency of their legends.
Nor for the washerwomen who call when they need me
Either as a witch or a saint.
No. All this is for that bald little girl who believed
That she will never leave the tower.
I grew my hair long for her so that she can climb down
And see that the world is larger and warmer than what seems to be up here.
I told her that I never brushed my hair
So that she can step on the tangles and the knots-
I don’t want her to slide by accident. I hope she’ll be careful.
Meanwhile, I stay here. Looking at the world the way it looks at me.
Waiting for a postcard.


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