Old Bones, Old Stories

Giant of the past,

you whisper

the wisdom of grandmothers,

so dry

they might crackle,

turn to ash and

fly away.

Join the tribe,

she says,

telling tales of

sisters with feathers

in their hair,

dancing before the fire.

Come with me,

to a time before time,

when brave warriors,

adorned with ivory tusks

stalked the wild large things.

Everything was bigger then;

giant graceful ferns to feather

gigantic nests

for humongous screeching monsters

with bloody teeth and bloody claws

that grab and snatch

men alive;

for their young to dangle and toss.

Come with me;

grandmother elephant says

through the years

to a time

when women healed with plants.

Use rosemary for remembering;

and lavender, put that in your bath,

she purrs;

less frightening now.

Keep it quiet,

keep it safe;

her voice raises in warning.

Flames shoot from her tusks.

Visions come,

screams of pain

and fear

in a time when

a birthmark was proof of sin.

Beggars at the back door,

my baby is ill of the grippe

they cried.

Maid, mother, crone

now standing silent and somber

before the fire.

Old grandmother starts to

crack and crumble.

Remember the dead,

she whispers,

as she fades away.

Kellepics: Pixabay