In Which Rapunzel Pursues a Talkless Therapy

by Ruth Baumann

The whiskey bottle holds her to the light
& examines the small, displaced stars
withered spit-dull in her eyes, oh yes
you will do.

An easy way to make anything real is to deny
its existence. Rapunzel is ready to fill her head.

Rapunzel is a gemini.

Go ahead says the wind Pick your damn door.
The air has given up demanding first person.

Rapunzel is not a gemini.

What if any given statement was true
in that it only partially lied? She sleeps
next to her body, long-fingered &
headlessly hungry. At the center is always a circle
the circle the other circles encircle the
small hapless pulp of obsession.

Listen: her hands keep tapping
like she believes in secrets.

Listen: she has not mentioned the witch.


About the Author

Ruth Baumann is an MFA student at the University of Memphis, & Poetry Editor of The Pinch. If you want, you can find her publications at