I am no pale princess out of fairy tale.
I would have my skin too thick to feel
The pea through my piled feather beds.
There is no prince charming enough
To dare my Rapunzel tower
Nor bring me a glass slipper
Nor weave me a rose encrusted bower.
But I will be malicious Morgan
Who wished fair Guinevere dead
Or Blodeuedd who was created flowers
And for her lack of faith
Became the hunting owl instead.
And I will be the wicked queen
Who cuts off her suitors’ heads
One by gory one,
Who carries fatal apples
And a poisoned spindle
And dances to her death
Beneath the blazing sun.
1973
His slippers are mutilated
For the comfort
Of his feet.
His feet are knotted
And broken in sores.
Christ knows
How his blessed feet are.
1976