Tag Archives: crone

Crone Status

I no longer look for Mr. Right,
can’t envision him in my space
can’t see myself naked under the light,
not the vision to behold
I care to share.

The man I might want
has nothing to do with this reality,
wouldn’t be attracted
to this hag worn body
ragged at the seams
creaking joints making
a cacophony of noise

Looking back –
I skated the edge
of marginalization
for more years
then I care to admit.
Looked at life darkly
groveled, debased myself,
making self-pity an art form

But now I am willing to shoulder
crone status and its implications.
No young God will warm my bed
I take comfort in its space
in wearing old, worn bedclothes
with no one looking askance at me

My body can make all the noises
a symphony makes
sore bones moaning
arthritis crackling.
Cat curled against my back
on inky dark, windswept nights.

Alta

Crone rocking the hours by,
worn wicker caressing
tissue paper thin skin.
Watching life’s passages
on the tiny porch of
the long closed general store
as dust stirs in whirlwinds
kicked up from pickups
tearing up dirt roads.

To some a forgotten relic
but I, all of five,
sat by her feet,
little legs dangling off the stoop,
hoping to absorb, perhaps by osmosis,
wisdom, stories, gentle words,
knowing she was safe –
too battle scarred by life’s trials
to inflict fear upon the innocent.

Children, grandchildren, great
grandchildren, great great grandchildren,
coming from her loins,
she populated most of the valley,
while many went on to lives
of their own choosing.
needing occasional reminders
she still remained.

Breasts gone, they thought
cancer would rob her womanhood,
but she defied their projections . . .
the old woman
with the name of a foregone era
still measured her life
by the rock of her wicker chair
and remembered far more
than most would forget . . .
and I sat in awe.