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Hagland

December 8, 2016

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The crone arrives like an undesired lover
leaving
the shape of my body
mutating.

Like an adolescent girl, I sense
changes
within:
unsought losses, unclear gifts.

I rage and sleep,
weep unwillingly,
demand more,
desire less.

There are no fairy tales here,
no promise of princes and beautiful gowns,
only
the crone’s belly
and a different cloak of invisibility.

1997

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