Dolmen

The dolmen sits squat

Like a giant stone mushroom

In a fairy glade.

Daisy chain

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Untitled

Swaddled in mist

I climb the steps,

Hand on hard rail

For the treads are uneven,

Some steep, some shallow,

Worn almost flat in parts,

Much trodden,

Elsewhere rough and stony;

My feet falter,

Feeling their way,

I lose my grip,

Fall to my knees,

Gasping,

Then feel my way

forward

On all fours

Like a child

Until the mist wisps away,

The steps even out and

The path lies straight ahead.

The Ages of Woman

THE AGES OF WOMAN

The Ages of Woman are not a mere seven but legion,

Varied and separate yet overlapping,

Developing and complexifying

Through time.

There are the roles that we choose

And those that are imposed,

The parts that we play,

Knowing we are playing,

And those that we play

Without knowing.

I feel - at times –

like a shattered glass,

each fragment a role

to piece together

to make me whole.