Old Crone Emergence

Tried to escape in the woods today, but you were there.  

I searched for all the familiar signs, tiny toads, delicate feathers, anything. Nothing.

Stripped down and sought solace in her embrace.  

The gentle lapping offered no relief.  

Did you know juvenile bullfrogs make peep sounds?  Of course not, why were you there. 

The twisting in my depths choked out the tears.  

Something unknown writhed within, demanding attention, signs all her own. 

None of them pretty. Are unicorns and rainbows too much to ask for?

She slithered in the depths, speaking a language of death, old bones and wives tales.  

I could hear the whisper of her movements, it’s a familiar adage. Coward.  

I reach for it, seeking the comfort of its mantle as I wrap it around my shoulders.  Ready for the shame. Accepting fault.

Rage bubbled up, Coward a harsh, repeating, whisper.  

Provoking, accusing, displacing the familiar sorrow.   

Refusing to swallow the lie. 

Impatient with my acceptance, irritated with your intrusion and false love.

 I’ve heard of her, but we have not met. Old crone, hag, witch.

Woodpeckers, new path, new opportunity.

Mushrooms, new growth after death and betrayal.

Garder snakes, healing, life changes, primal energy

Feel the flow return. I am the cycle.  I let go of attachment to the how  and know that exactly what I need is happening.  

Maiden.

Mother.

Wild woman.

Old Crone

I contain the wisdom of all. 

I am taking back my crown

Jessica Martin