Rescue

Day 17
Poem 17

This poem was inspired, oddly enough, by an article about Melania Trump’s instagram photos. The author depicted her as a sort of fairytale princess who has no desire to leave her tower, and that sent me here.

Rescue

I.
I wait here burnt, bloodied, while she makes up
her mind. The door is unlocked now, the monster slain,
but still she stands at the window as if she wasn’t free.
I’ve told her she owes me nothing, not her lips nor her love,
in case I’m what she fears. But all she does is press her hand
to the glass and say “I like the view,” and that is that, though
I tell her of the wonders I’ve seen in the wide world. I give her time,
return again and again, and while she smiles from her window she never comes
down. After a month,
I stop going up.

II.
I’ve had my fair share
of adventures and damsels.
“Aren’t you a bit old
to be a knight?” the girl,
from her window. I know
she’s disappointed.
My dashing days are past.
But she wants out more
than she wants perfect so
she asks me to climb her hair.
The brambles have grown back
around this tower, the first
I ever scaled. But this time
no dragons. Only two souls
within the tower room,
the girl young enough to be
my daughter, a woman
old enough to be my wife.
She doesn’t fight
when I take her child
and the girl never looks
back, enthralled
with all the newness ahead.
But I look back, briefly, see her
in the window, my princess, hand on the glass.

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