Thief Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I am old. I have lost six teeth
From my shrunkengums
My breasts are shrivelled gourds

My babes have morphed into parents
All but one. I have buried my eldest son

Every year twists lines on my face
I think I ‘m a wicker basket
With knotty bones
And a heart in a metal casket

No possession claims me
Next to my skin, like a rosary
I wore my dead son's hair in a silver locket
In sorrow I wore it
Till a thief stole it

I am not ageing well
My days are coins unspent
I am jealous of the hawk that wheels in the high sky
My feet are claggy's cement

Ageing is as inevitable as the tides
As stars in their cosmic motions
I look at nodding harebells
And see the ghostly heads
Of monks at their devotions