NaPoWriMo 2019 – Day 19
Cave of Knowing
Perched on a rock at edge of
the cave of my knowing,
wondering if these words
tossed over edge will even be heard
by an understanding ear.
Suppose one could compose a legend
of a gray-haired woman
choosing to live alone in her finally
owned wilderness, letting loose her truths
into unknown Universe.
Instead, watch moon and stars
occasionally glisten, as they lean in
to listen to these prayers quietly penned
by gnarled but willingly bent
Elizabeth Crawford 4/19/2019
Process Notes: Image is a pen and ink sketch used to decorate a long ago self-published chapbook titled “Singing Over the Bones”. When I saw it this morning, I immediately heard the words “cave of knowing”, so posted it. Saw a poster on Facebook about gray-haired women which had me searching for a song, heard only once, over thirty years ago, but never forgotten. Only remember the catch phrase to the song, “She’s a gray-haired woman, coming into her own.” Couldn’t find it but was humming it for hours. And finally a conversation with another poet about ‘fingers’. And yes, I do believe that poems are, more often than not, prayers, or most often accompanied by such.