deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hymn to the Crone
When Cally died aged 33
of cancer, leaving behind
a Husband, 2 young lads
and an ocean of emptiness
I asked big questions
what it really means
as we float around space
on a cosmic bowling ball
if it means anything at all
inbetween paying bills
and taxes. How a world
can spin, seemingly
out of control.
I see those lads sometimes,
their little faces gleaming
through Facebook pictures,
Hubbie’s arm around
someone new
how well they look
after death’s violent visit.
Every now and then
I’ll question the living,
then I’ll realise she
isn’t here, and the
questioning of it
becomes ridiculous.
I don’t varnish anything
never have
never will
just a peri-menopausal mess
downing cocktails of vitamins
on the coat tails of forty,
hair flecked with silver
it’s not sexy,
but it’s fucking relevant
because she couldn’t
because she’s dead
because her bones lay
in the cold, wet earth.
When Cally died aged 33
of cancer, I made a pact
with the world that I’d take
the crone as she comes
because
nobody really knows
how long we’ve got
on this globe
how she’d love a chance
to be grey with her kids
a second time around.
Published 12th Apr 2024
Author's Note
Letters to the Old Ways
12/30
12/30
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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12th Apr 2024 12:21pm
Heartwarming and captivating spill. Especially love the detail!
I applaud you!
I applaud you!
12th Apr 2024 2:38pm
This makes me look back and reflect on my life.
my loss and my pain.
this is a poignant right.
my loss and my pain.
this is a poignant right.
12th Apr 2024 5:12pm
Everyone who knows me knows I'm meeting age as gracefully as possible. In honour of those who were never afforded the opportunity. Beautifully thought provoking, this
