See yourself sitting strong, at ease
in a vaulted dome cave.
See the waxing moon peering in
through an opening in the ceiling
watching over you like a Doula
as your potency crowns.
You are in the temple of the ineffable feminine
where you have given birth to many parts of yourself.
Now at menopause you have returned to give birth to
your soul, whole
to dignify this sacred passage
and all that it has taken to get yourself here.
Priestess of your own initiation,
watch yourself claiming your harvest to share.
Recognise your new role as mentor
for future generations of women and girls.
See on your head an Ouroboros,
not a Laurel wreath for victory
but a snake devouring her own tail.
Your blood cycle which seemed to define you for so long
has been swallowed inside you
with not a drop of wisdom lost.
Now you belong to the Moon and Earth completely.
You find no belonging
in the medicalised definitions of what menopause means,
this uncontrollable river of changes.
Your imagination has her own magical descriptors-
your crow’s eye view,
greying haired top knot
and woaded brow
announce who you are in every colour
you have journeyed with.
See your beauty
that can never reside in a young, flawless face
and body, but only in the mountain peaks,
valley bottoms and forests of a life well lived,
inhabited with heart.
Cocooned in a susurrus of silence
that sounds your soul,
ripened by darkness and depth
watch yourself emerge back into the light.