Crone

She approached the periphery
Circling life slowly,
Life,
Ebbing into oceans
Vast and misunderstood
Her mind wandering into dark
Wet places
Beckoning her dissolving self
Back to shore
She fought the tide
In useless protest
Kneeling in shallows,
Fists pounding salty sand
Grabbing handfuls of hair
Moaning guttural protest
More seagull than human
Exhausted,
Falling into tide pools
Arms outstretched,
Warm ocean
Becoming her own blood
She became
New
Rising with the sun
Gathering pebbles and syllables
To roll around her tongue
As she stalked the shoreline
For one more
Glorious, golden
Day

1sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2016

Oh, Life

Oh, Life
Let me taste your sweet sensuality
Suck a honey drop
From your sweating brow
Surrender mortality

Let me engulf you
Beginning to end
Let me love you and leave you
And come once again

Oh, Death
How you haunt me
All these long years
Reminding me daily
To let go my fears

For you wait in the shadows
As this body grows old
With adventures unfinished
And stories untold

So I wake each new day
With this vow on my tongue
I will live well today
For I’ve only begun.

1sagefemme All Rights reserved 2016

nocturnal emissions

up at 4 am
again,
bathed in salt
not necessarily the healing kind
sweat and gooseflesh
i am being preserved
in preparation for what?
fine, then
i’d like to be a pelagic
pisces
i am not a bottom feeder
(well, okay, sometimes i am)
or if i am to be pickled
in my own brine
perhaps
a festive little
onion
i am fragrant now
in the process of this transformation
body melting,
bubbling and expanding,
i am taking up more space
in my head
in my bed
the puppy won’t sleep with me anymore
lest i scald her
and i whisper, lovingly
to my sweet sweet girl
honey,
i love you so
but get your
hot hand
off
me
now
i am transforming
and i’m not sure what form
you will find
in the morning

1Sagefemme All Rights Reserved 2016

Sunday

Good morning Sunday!
Want to hang out in bed with me today?
We could read that stack of books
lying tantalizingly on the bedside table,
pages spread uninhibited, expectant…
Did you conspire with the puppy
to lick my face awake, excited like you haven’t seen me in a week?
Ah, the guilt.
My mom friends are already texting,
up and running after their small people,
no question of canoodling with you,
but here is the silver lining of divorce,
Sunday,
every other week we have this tryst,
and I have come to love you
again,
like when we were little and used to
hide in the basement and play
peekaboo with Dad…
And then,
remember university?
You would wrap me in a warm blanket
and whisper
“no more peach schnapps, kiddo.”
And when my firstborn came along,
that bright and pungent baby who never slept but sure could scream,
you tried to sneak away,
don’t pretend you didn’t.
You were an asshole like the rest of days then,
you acted like Monday,
but now I see it wasn’t really your fault.
Babies just don’t have any respect
for order, time, sleep,
and don’t feel bad,
Sunday,
I didn’t really notice you leave…
I was so in love, so enamoured
with that little wailing life,
that the whole world caved in;
I was so in love with that baby,
that another seemed a great idea…
A second one,
bright and pungent,
less wailing with this one,
but maybe that was me
I was an experienced mother then.
I was rosy and ignorant
of time outside the cave,
self-important like
I was the only one who ever gave birth,
And of course,
Sunday,
you know I work outside the cave
so how could we have met back then?
But today,
I see that you didn’t run off after all;
you have been waiting patiently
in the wings
all this time.

1sagefemme.wordpress.com  
All rights reserved 2016

Rose Coloured Glasses

What do you see in this floral frock;
A faded rose; a weathered rock?
Are you scanning my veiny, reddened face,
My random grays and expanding waist?

Or do you see my wizened soul,
My passion and joy and mind so bold
As to glamour you with my pendulum hips
And tender caresses and witty quips.

Through these eyes of greenish haze,
I will fix you with an admiring gaze,
And see not your lumps and bumps and rolls,
But linger on your awesome whole –

The bounce in your step, your handsome face,
Your sideways grin, your excellent taste,
The way your fingers graze my neck,
Leading your lips, oh, what the heck!

My flesh will hum a sensual song,
Of longing and passion; you can do no wrong.
I am not an ingénue,
And my sinuous body will sing for you.

What do you see in this floral dress;
A sexy grin and bouncy ass?
Are you scanning my lovely, porcelain face,
My pixie hair and supple waist?

Oh, see me, my lover, through lover’s eyes
Though they may feed you little lies,
And I will see you in your purest glory,
And feed upon your whole life story.

You will taste the ocean in my kiss,
For I am all now; you can’t resist.
I will take you into my molten core,
And give you the gift of love once more.

And you and I will defy Time’s law,
And be hard and soft and sweet and raw.
And give and take and share our souls,
And know that each of us is whole.

1sagefemme  all rights reserved 2014

Metamorphosis

Here I am, over forty, feeling wicked strong,
I’ve found the place where I belong,
And it turns out I had it all along:
This skin, this bone, this heart, this soul;
This wonderful mind that swallows me whole.

When I was ten, I felt afraid,
Of mothers and monsters and choices they made.
So I became bookish and insecure,
I was too big and too small and so unsure,
How do other girls endure?

When I was twelve I started to fight,
I had hormones and I knew that I was right;
That the world was all fucked up and I was stuck in it,
And I’d hate you and hate them all every minute,
Of every damn day, without end, without limit.

When I was nineteen I knew I was queer,
‘Cause my body would vibrate when cute dykes were near,
And the hormones, they had me all tied up in knots,
Of “does she love me, or does she not?”
And “who really cares as long as she’s hot?”

I fell in love once, twice, and then thrice,
And the final love stuck and, meh, it was nice.
We made love, we found jobs; we acted all grown-up,
We fostered some teens, got two cats and a pup,
And a car, and a house, and all of that . . . stuff.

And then I was thirty and starting to wonder,
If I could finally be a mother,
And BANG two kids appeared out of the clouds,
And they were boys, and they were LOUD,
And oh, how I love them; I’m a mom and proud!

But those years were not about me,
I gave up my “I” and instead became “we.”
I didn’t plan to be misplaced,
The time, it just rubbed me ‘til I was defaced,
And I felt myself slowly being erased.

But the final thing to go was my pen,
And I clutched it tightly even then,
And I doodled and drew, and scribbled and scratched,
And fashioned a skeleton with wings attached,
And re-drew my feet that never matched.

Then I rubbed it all over with sparkles and glue,
And the kids helped me make her a sky so blue.
I smiled when she looked up at me,
And through my own hazel eyes I could see,
What a beautiful, awesome, ME I could be.

I’m forty-four now and here’s who I am;
Got two kids, an ex-wife, and I don’t give a damn,
If you don’t like my ass or my wings or my tan,
‘Cause I’m white as they come but I’m not made of bread
And that’s not a halo over my head.

If I want you, I’ll tell you; I’m not wasting time,
And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s just fine.
There are plenty of other sweet bois I can find,
Who will want to be held by my thighs and my mind,
And I’ll give them gift of my gaze and my time.

I am awake now, and unafraid.
This mid-life body is being remade.
My blood, my blood is full of fire,
And it might be a hot flash, but it feels like desire;
Like I just turned my thermostat higher.

I speak the words that must be spoken,
I may be bent, but I’m not broken,
Watch me now, my magic’s awoken!
Rise up with me, find your glory,
And sing it or shout it; your own awesome story.

I see you there, smiling, hesitant girl,
And I want you to follow me into my world.
We can be queens of this whole fucking place,
We can light it on fire; there’s no time to waste,
We’ve got a whole new universe to create.

Where crow’s feet and laugh lines mark us as strong,
Survivors of childhood and all the things wrong
With this world that tells us that we don’t belong.
I’m here to tell you, out of love and not duty,
Not to let anyone deny your beauty.

I see you there sauntering girl-who’s-a-boi,
And maybe your breasts don’t bring any joy,
You want bigger muscles, more strong definition,
But just as you are, without inhibition,
It’s your eyes that entice me from top to submission.

I see us all; young, middle-aged, old,
Wearing masks made of fear because we’ve been sold
A load of shit packaged as sound advice,
And I’m here to put the boot to the lies.
All of us are butterflies.

1sagefemme   All Rights Reserved 2016

Birthday

This is me, at 46;
Youth still visible in the rear-view mirror,
The wisdom of time seeping warmly
Into the crevices of my face.
See my eyes?
They have seen a thousand tiny miracles,
Witnessed sorrow beyond comprehension,
Filled with rivers of laughter and grief.
I have struggled with this face,
Loved with it,
Screamed into the cold wind and cursed every god with it.
But today I am grateful,
To be stuck in traffic,
In the snow,
Feeling the tug of the earth
Gentle as a lover’s touch;
The whistling wind calling me home.

1sagefemme © All rights reserved 2015