WHAT THE PRINCE DOESN'T KNOW
Two months ago the mammogram revealed
a lump, and days since then have passed.
She can no longer throw her hair over the wall
for him to shimmy up beneath the star-scarred sky.
In a nauseous-chemo blur, clumps of golden thread
fell from her head to the tower's cold, stone floor.
Still, the witch keeps her here, caged and ill,
the left breast completely gone. Her head is a pale bald egg,
So when the Prince yells up to her, Rapunzel, throw down
your golden hair, she hides beneath the sterile sheets.