We welcome September with poet Beth Gordon’s prose poem “The Crone Humming”, a wild hymnal for the unknown and unspeakable. This is a poem with a voice, a song. It’s alive with things not only ancient and primal, but also things new and vibrant and looking forward into the dewy murk of tomorrow. “The Crone Humming” is part of a series of poems Beth has written about aging. She told The Dewdrop, “Having turned 60 last year, I’ve been writing a series of poems about being an “old woman” in our culture, but more importantly embracing aging without fear. My hope is that the poems reflect the emotional, spiritual, and magical powers I’ve discovered as I grow older.”
The Crone Humming
Angels We Have Heard on High + Folsom Prison Blues in equal measure. By this I mean that sin & saints shared my cradle. By this I mean there is no moment in my life without opposing forces vying for my soul. I want to sing for you but there are things trapped in my throat. Sandstone. Fool’s Gold. Foxglove Leaves muddled into a pot of rain & thyme. I want to sing for you, but I don’t want to damage your mind. My lullaby is not a soothing rag: not a cipher that opens the door to sleep. My lullaby is a bonfire beneath the pink & sprouting moon. Nothing will rest. Everything will rise. The flames. The owls. The wolf song of beginnings. What’s that you hear? It has no speak-able name.
Beth Gordon
Beth Gordon is a poet, mother and grandmother currently living in Asheville, North Carolina. She is the author of several chapbooks including The Water Cycle (Variant Literature) and How to Keep Things Alive (Split Rock Press). Beth is Managing Editor of Feral: A Journal of Poetry and Art, Assistant Editor of Animal Heart Press, and Grandma of Femme Salve Books. Twitter, Instagram, and BlueSky @bethgordonpoet.
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