A Sevenling for the Night Before my Birthday (Poem)

Three things about my hair:
it is as much silver as mouse-nibble brown, now;
it is thick as a badger's pelt;
it still forms inappropriately juvenile ringlets in damp weather.

Three things to turn over, quietly, in the marches of dawn:
I am heavy with the weight of things undone;
I am grown into myself, at last; I tip my hat to the world with the returning sun.

The mother saluting the crone, as autumn's fingers lengthen in my bones.

- Kathy, 18/6/16