It starts innocent: What color is the hair
I hid for 20 years, first for fashion
and then as a shaytel of dark in a box
I leave on a shelf, unused
for 2 months.
I have gone from maiden
to crone in 60 days:
47 an age for putting aside artifice
for a moment, numbering fine lines
like tree rings, blaming children
for each gray hair instead of thanking them for it.
No one saves the maker of amulets
or the deliverer of curses;
I am no longer a princess needing rescue,
dosed with a darning needle
or tasting the poisoned apple
and am instead the wise woman, the crone
who has no use for glass slippers
because she dances barefoot
on the dark side of the moon.
Wasn’t sure about this one when it started – hair colour? – but loved the way you followed through and ended this. I saw a journey. On the dark side of the moon, people build with pink bricks but can’t see the colour in the night.
Damn, I love that, Trent. Building with pink bricks. Shame all that color is wasted. Perhaps they can feel the pink through their palms.
This little piece was inspired by reading something about the word crone, about how this woman didn’t like it. I love the word. It is scary and powerful.
from maiden to crone
and with wisdom thus garnered
Yes! You got it. From object to agent 😉
dance, lady, dance – if you are a crone, then I am a fossil
I would never call you a fossil–you are too nicely fleshed for that.
Great poem. But pul-eeze! Four-seven ain’t no crone. That hair is a a canvas waiting for new paint. Time to dye it fuscia-pink or baby-chick yellow. Or both. 😉 What would Tina Turner or the Queen Mum do (if she could)? ROCK!
Oh, I will be one rocking crone with my gray showing shamelessly. Remember the line– “Pardon, your slip is showing…”
I kind of like it. I have one intense silver streak. It’s lovely 😉
Ah! My sister had a silver streak that came in high school. It was dang elegant. It went away after a while. My younger son may have this gene. He has a few silver threads coming in at twelve. Perhaps I give HIM gray hairs. Yes. I’m sure of this. 🙂
Love it. My brother had some that young, too.
Come to the other side. Gray rocks
Love the poem, Susan. I finally convinced my wife to go natural (I use to dye her hair for her; I’m shameless) and it looks great. I think embracing what’s natural helps anyone mature and become more accepting at whatever age. Leo
Thank you, Leo. It started as curiosity–wanting to see if I remembered what my natural hair color was, and now I want to just let it be 😉
Congratulations are in order now that you are a crone. Have you done a croning ceremony?
I truly began to appreciate the Crone when I read “Women who run with the wolves.” Maybe you’ve read that too. If not, you should.
I will read that! What a great idea–a croning ceremony 😉
Very pregnant with wisdom
You are a true Crone
Thank you, Patricia. maybe I will have a croning ceremony, as Georgia suggested 😉
I truly hope.. And to be invited to the Crowning !
Hee, hee. Sure!
It’s interesting how we reach a point where we embrace ourselves and cast away the bull. It goes smoother for some than others. Me, scorched earth, and at the same age.
Nelle, sending you a hug.
This is beautiful, Susan! I started going gray ten years ago, in my early twenties. Needless to say, I now have a lot more gray hair. I don’t color my hair, though. I figure, I earned each of those gray hairs, so I might as well be proud of them!
That’s how I am seeing it now. I have earned my silver and it is silly to keep covering it.
that last stanza is just stellar, Susan!
Thanks, Stacy…I think I am going to like this chapter coming up…much more fun than the maiden 😉
From one crone to another, I love this!
Thanks, Julie. I feel another of these coming on….maybe my poetic take on a croning ceremony.
I did it, and I’m glad. Nope…nothing to hide. I’ve decided to embrace the silver lining! 😉 welcome to the crone’s club sfam.
😉 I am in good company…
we shall ride the silver and never look back. we’ll go out as we came in…natural and beautiful!
The seventh decade will carry with it some interesting surprises & disappointments…
goodness dear, I’m older than you and still allude myself ! Breathing pink pulses was my encapsulation ~ Debbie xx
nice…great ending !!
Thanks, Don! Long time no read. How are you?
Makes me excited about growing. Thanks for this beautiful poem. 🙂
THank you for the wonderful comment!