This face has the countenance
of every crone I have known,
the one I am becoming—

not the malicious, disagreeable,
sinister old woman, but one
who embodies wisdom,

inner knowing, intuition,
as all the crones I have ever
known have done for me,

guiding my younger self
through transitions, sitting
with me, urging me to go

inward, as I did and do now.
At my dining room table,
I sit with a younger woman,

listen, offer gentle words,
say with a knowing I’ve only
recently come to know:

It’s all about the love, my
dear, not about possession
or jealousy. Just the love.

You are adored, even when
you think you are not.
You are held by hands

you cannot see. You are wise,
you are smart, and you are
strong. You will only become

wiser and stronger. I promise.
I remind my own crone self
that hag springs

from the Greek hagia—
holy one—becoming an
instrument of the divine,

dancing to the reliable
drumbeat of my blown-open,
ever-healing, wise heart.

•••

With thanks to sculptor Debra Bernier for the inspiration.