Poem: The Unwinding

this thing I must do
when the door is closed,
the deadbolt turned
the workday world
a memory
when I have supped,
the cuppa brewed
and I, alone awake;
the night a curtain drawn
to hide the whispers
only I can hear, for I
the sole survivor of
the passing day
in silence stir
the stillness of
unuttered prayer
this candle lit
this incense burned
this tea a potion
given by this tired woman,
poured out libation
to the hungry creatures
of time that eat away
the sweetness of youth,
devouring the folly
of old mothers
held together by sheer
will, and Will herself,
the mother of my destiny
and father of my might

©15 June 2019

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