CRONE’S PANTOUM
By Andrea Bates, Wilmington, NC
It doesn’t take long to grow old.
For the rain to lose its fragrance,
I no longer worry about being good
and wear this body like a blanket.
For the rain to lose its fragrance
let the night frighten as it should
and wear this body like a blanket.
O bird who was an angel.
Let the night frighten as it should.
Crow hair, medicine eyes,
O bird who was an angel
Stamened bright in yellow flame.
Crow hair, medicine eyes,
I walk barefoot in the grass
Stamened bright in yellow flame,
A butterfly wishing for a new dress.
I walk barefoot in the grass
Seeking a circle of hands, I am
A butterfly wishing for a new dress,
A poppy’s tireless caress.
Seeking a circle of hands, I am
A litany, a wife, an altar,
A poppy’s tireless caress,
A crone who was once a daughter.
A litany, a wife, an altar.
I no longer worry about being good,
A crone who was once a daughter,
A fragrant rain that fell in the woods.
