A strand of tiny bleached vertebrae hang like pearls
around the crone’s sagging neck
each bone collected from a Montana forest floor.
Stones from Montana rivers line her linen apron pockets,
always cool against her knotted fingers’ skin.
Pieces of shell and feathers twist through her spindly white braid.
She sings songs of redwing blackbirds
and caws into summer’s long-stretched day.
Filaments of time tie her voice
to molecules of still sticky air.
As the crone listens,
a cardinal lands high in a sycamore tree
and lightning bugs begin their dance
reminding her of life’s boons.
A single crow circles,
screaming its beware to all who believe in evil.
Watching its art,
the crone lifts her face,
“Caw! Caw! Caw!”
Back and forth they call,
and the crone laughs, low and deep
settling herself on the banks of Riley Creek
where she knocks on Earth three times for good health
merging her cells with the gloaming.
A row of rodent bones catches her eye;
vertebrae winking white through dark swaying grass.
Brenda Warren 2013
Visit The Sunday Whirl.
Brenda, just lovely. I was transported there. The “lightning bugs” did it for me. I just love that connection with nature. Soulful and deep. And the use of bone and crone – just those repeating sounds.
Richard
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Your words are like a tapestry story.
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Superb! It speaks on many levels. Strong, proud and wise.
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What a great comment. Thank you.
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Very good poem, make more sense when you don’t a bad headache. Ah teh old crone, us ladies will all be that some day. And Watch Out!
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There is definitely strength in numbers. I’m envisioning a gathering of crones. 😉
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ooh, I love this. I can identify with her. Not there yet, but collecting the stones and bones. I like the image of her hands in the apron. I loved it all. Yes, a story poem. A cro(w)ne indeed.
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Bones and stones….I’ve been collecting them since an early age. It’s nice to know I’m in good company. !
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A vignette well expressed. Vivid and remarkable. Thanks for this Bren.
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Your impressions bring a smile, Walt. Thank you.
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I love reading this like a wonderful little jewel of a fairy tale. Very vivid imagery for me Brenda. 🙂
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Thanks Veronica. The words weave rich tapestries for us, don’t they? I’m glad you like this one. If I were an artist, I’d make this a picture book.
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Ooh, I love your ending:
“merging her cells with the gloaming. (especially this line)
A row of rodent bones catches her eye;
vertebrae winking white through dark swaying grass.”
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Thank you for your visit and support. The winking bones made me smile, such a great image for me.
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A single crow circles,
screaming its beware to all who believe in evil.
Like the line above, this is rich piece, Brenda, with a development, a setting, and character.
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Thanks, Irene. I like that line, too, it was my ticket to using the word beware. 😉
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We should all be so lucky as to grow old like her. 😀
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I’m hoping to get there. It saddens me to understand how few years are between she and I, as I know how quickly they will arrive. Time passes.
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I loved the story here of this woman, or rather I should say, crone. The knocking three times for good luck – that’s something I would probably do too!
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A kindred spirit…. Welcome, and thanks for stopping to read and comment.
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Gorgeous story poem, Brenda. You did weave the words perfectly in this.
Pamela
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Thank you, Pamela.
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Agree with all the above. Being in the crone stage has its benefits.
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Thank you Marian. May I make it to the crone stage in good health.
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She reminds me of several women I have come to know here on the poetry prompt circuit. Their faces came to mind as I read your lines. I believe she is a Universal, a role model for each of us. Thanks Brenda, for bringing her forward with these words. They suit her well,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
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Thank you, Elizabeth. I appreciate your words, and can see the possibility of several among us at play here, too.
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I loved reading this…and re-reading it…and getting a fuller image of her with each read. I wish I could paint what I see in my head, you’ve painted it so well with your words.
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Thank you, Paula. I’m so glad you liked her enough to reread. That’s a great compliment.
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The woman in your poem reminds me so much of one I met years ago in Theodore Roethke’s poem, “I Knew a Woman,” which begins:
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
Thank God there are such women as yours and Roethke’s moving among us. They are the glue that keeps this fragile planet from crumbling to pieces!
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I know Roethke’s poem, and can feel the connection. Perhaps it spoke to me subliminally as I wrote. And yes, all praise to the wise ones.
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Like the best fairy tale ever! Or personal myth…
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Fairy tales are born of personal myths, eh? 😉
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I really like this one, Bren. Loving the give and take with the crow, but the whole piece is rich.
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Thanks Barb. I’m rather fond of the crow bit, too.
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I imagine her very much at piece. An Earth Mother – someone who the suburban wife goes to when modern medicine fails to produce cures or concrete hopes from the limits of man’s science.
An Earth Mother – remembering and living life’s boons. Very much like the poem from which the words came from in the sense that your crone lives many lives, perhaps some of them enchanted.
Thanks always for your word lists, support and encouragement. I’m not sure where ‘Haggard’ will go. Another interesting old crone, eh? Thanks again for your visit.
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Thanks, Jules. Yes, crones…. thanks for your support, too.
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The dryness and hollowness of these bones scrape and jar..but are somehow also beautiful..part of her being..Jae
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Part of her being….that’s what I was going for, that sense of union with all that is. Thank you Jae.
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She’s a game old bird 😉
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ha! Thanks, Stan.
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That surely has to be one strange lady! I love the way you wove the words.
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Thanks, Viv. Her priorities are different, that is certain. I imagine her at peace with the world.
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