They disappeared,
leaving me perplexed.

There was no warning,
no ritual to say farewell.

Months later, my body creaks
like an empty barn.

I no longer move in time
with the changing seasons,

for I am autumn and winter
with no hope of spring.

I enter the era of the crone,
wearing clothes as dark as night,

and I think of bones, teeth and skin
rattling in a medicine bag,

waiting to be emptied out
and read as prophecy;

walk the winding path
in the moonlight

leading to white chapped mountains
in the distance.

©Michele Darnell-Roberts