HAG STONES

 

Standing in salt water

While wind and rain

Wrestle my hooded jacket

Exposing tangled hair

Waves too close

To old leather boots

Questing for holey/holy or,

As legend calls them,

Hag stones

For protection

And therefore good luck

I bend over seeing a few

With eroded holes

Lifting to the sky

Gazing at weak sunlight

That cannot dry

The early morning dew

But think,

That hole

Worn by crabs or

Sand or stones is

So like the hole

In my heart

Worn by aching grief

Of a love

Never fulfilled

Of a garden

Blighted from

Heat and storm

A once beautiful Shangri-la

Of dreams

Torn to pieces

Missing an essential

Life force no longer

Part of me

The hag stone, then,

Perhaps a reminder

Of what wasn’t to be…

 

© 2023 Clarissa Simmens (ViataMaja)

IMAGE:  Hag Stone 3