The Crone
I have been gifted a handful of teeth,
red-white-red-white like a barber’s pole,
relinquished for a story and a coin. The long
con, according to the forest witch, is to scoop
enough to suck upon, to keep you young. I
would rather make myself a leafless tree where birds
can rest when, mid-migration, they grow weak.
I would rather seek memories, their soft stitches
coming undone on the mossy woodland floor,
are puddles of pale green light,
peals of laughter faded back
into a breeze, or the murmur of dark water. No son,
nor any daughter, will trip down my front path to
seek their fortune, rather I will be the house where roses
grow, where those who had to leave can gather,
mouths full of teeth which aren’t on offer,
feet strong and certain, able to find their way.
Alice Tarbuck is an award-winning poet and writer. Her debut non-fiction book A Spell in the Wild: a year (and six centuries) of Magic is published by Hodder & Stoughton. With Claire Askew, she is the co-editor of The Modern Craft, published by Watkins.
