the miller's daughter & 
all the other girls who turn straw into gold--

how many of us have 
been the miller's
daughter &
how many times will
they tell us
to turn their rooms of
straw into gold? 
this is just
the story of another woman
locked in a tower praying
the sky clean of magic--
laying face-up in a book
of fairy tales whispering
to every little girl who
can read
to 
run run run
these hands
were not made for miracles--
there is little to believe
in alone in the dark &
there wasn't enough straw
weave a ladder to
the moon-- 
oh the miller's 
daughter sold
her herself piece
by piece to rumpelstiltskin
like all of us were taught to 
do-- to crawl into 
the king's bigger & bigger
rooms of straw-- our bodies
a vessel for precious metal--
have you ever been
kissed like a gold earring?
he saw our noses like 
diamond studs--
on the third night 
we all cut off our hair 
in the hopes he might mistake it
for straw 
& turn us into gold too--
& when there is nothing left to 
trade she promised
the parts of herself 
she hadn't held
yet-- the children inevitably 
waiting to become flesh & gold--
we all have a demon we pray
to-- give away ourselves
knuckle by knuckle
by wrist by elbow bone
but if i were the miller's daughter
i would send the imp home
on the third night-- tell
him to turn another girl's straw into
gold-- my blonde hair on
the wooden floor i would 
crawl into the pile of 
straw & sleep there until
morning-- 
when the king would awake &
my father would awake
& rumpelstilskin would awake 
they would all see how small
i was in such a big room--
they would all know
there was nothing left to
do but to cut off the rest 
of my head along with my hair
& all through the next day &
all through the next night
i would hum
straw into gold
straw into gold
& a phantom of the demon 
would taunt me & promise 
me the world if only i would
let him turn the third room
of straw into gold--
but i would die like that
& when the king cut off my head
my left over hair would
fall to the stone ground
as a fist full of coins-- 
a laugh of everything
locked in tower rooms--
we girls were meant to take up
so much more space--
we girls were dismantled 
piece by piece to bargain for gold--
we girls die when we stop 
dividing ourselves up
for the devil in our windowsills--
for our father who tell us
to build a sky
for the kings who build towers--
there will be other girls
who keep their heads-- there will
be girls without knives to cut
off their hair-- there will be
girls without demons to sell themselves
to-- but i'll die in a heap of
coins as the miller's daughter--
eating my name while
children sing out out of story
books 
"Tonight tonight, 
my plans I make, tomorrow tomorrow, 
the baby I take. 
The queen will never win the game, 
for Rumpelstiltskin is my name'"