Posted on Nov 12, 2018 in Poetry

Washer-womanIt’s washing day and She’s switched to heavy soil cycle,
Her determined arms pounding out the stains ingrained through centuries of careless wear.
Muddied water churns relentlessly under her garment grip,
The dirt-brown deluge spewing and spating over boulder-strewn banks
While Her low lament lures the keen ear,
Dripping with loss and neglect, sodden with desire.
She bridges the deserted path along which
We’re headed; there is no other route.
Do we turn from Her toil with fear-filled hearts,
Seeing only the Crone, hunched and hagged with misuse,
Discoloured with death?
That shadow spills behind us.
Or will we bend our backs to the filthy foam,
Wringing our hands clear of shame,
Rinsing out the radiant robes with which to clothe the Mother
At whose sustaining breast we’re nurtured new.
And lift our faces to the growing light
That tugs us on toward the maiden’s laugh,
And hope.

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Semele Xerri

© Semele Xerri is a psychic intuitive guide, healer, animal communicator, and Reiki Master Teacher. To find out more about her and her services, go to her Work with me page.

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