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Poetry: Feminine wisdom

Old crone
speak to me

I see your face
wrinkles like water
eyes like a stone

Tell of the young girl
who danced and loved the boys

Tell me of the children
and crying alone

Tell me of sweeping the front porch
and waiting by the phone

Tell me that he left you
and the dry place like a bone

Old crone
speak to me

I know that you are well
but tell me how dear mother
all this came to pass

Tell of the sweet cirlce of women friends
And dancing anew for yourself

Tell me of finding youself
in the print on a scarf

Tell me of menopause
and aching bones

Tell me though the twilight comes
you stay at home

Old crone
speak to me

The thin and quavering flesh
speaks of an arrow straight and true
that finds you as its mark

Is this the secret old crone
That mortal flesh shall fail
and you the devine feminine
shall at last prevail

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Poetry: Feminine wisdom

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