The ritual before dreaming.

she would need a new brush soon

forty-eight, forty-nine

it was remarkable how soon they wore through

fifty-one, fifty-two

they made them better, in the old days

fifty-four, fifty-five

with the silver handles and thick bristles

fifty-seven, fifty-eight

none of this plastic nonsense

sixty, sixty-one

so light she sometimes forgot it was in her hand

sixty-four, sixty-five

and the flimsy pegs that fell out at the slightest tangle

sixty-seven, sixty-eight

how strange that my arms grow tired now

seventy, seventy-one

with this same old labour

seventy-four, seventy-five

and yet they are stiff and slow

seventy-eight, seventy-nine

and these poor fingers curl so awkwardly

eighty-one, eighty-two

around the smooth handles

eighty-four, eighty-five

how ugly they are and they used to be so smooth

eighty-seven, eighty-eight

oh well, such is the way of the world

eighty-nine, ninety

or as much of it as i know

ninety-one

the witches hands, hers too grew feeble,

ninety-two, ninety three

gnarled and arthritic they could not grasp

ninety-four, ninety-five

and her swollen wobbling arms lost strength

ninety-six, ninety-seven

till she could climb no more

ninety-eight

and so i have been alone these many years

ninety-nine

waiting with nothing to do but this

one hundred

and done.

Rapunzel laid her brush aside

and began to braid her silver hair.