In Praise of the Crone

from Out With Lanterns, a daily poetry practice

The lotions I have bought
have not changed my life. 
They promised glossy, 
smooth skin and I bought in.
But my face is still aging, 
because I am aging. My plan
is to become a wizened
old crone who watches birds 
and writes every day about 
the magic she witnesses,
about all she knows after all 
this time. My coven and I
will not be distracted by 
wrinkles and grey hair. 
As I wrote this, a hawk 
landed two feet from 
my window, a shapeshifter
offering her approval. 

I’m not kidding! I was finishing this poem and this hawk came and stared at me for about two straight minutes. Magic indeed. Look at her formidable claws!