Where is Crone Mary?

By Theresa Babylon

I’m not old to many, but I feel oldness seeping into me.

I don’t mind it.  I am not yet afraid.


This growing older feels right.

I’ve been reaching for it my whole life.


Gazing at other aging things, trees and people,

I think about Mother Mary.


I’m not Catholic. To some, I am even heathen.

I still seek Mary.


I don’t see her as they would tell me I should.

I don't see her as virginal, naive, or a placid pawn.


Is my Mary pure?

Absolutely, but not in the untouched sort of way.


I see Crone Mary.

Gritty. Wise. Mirthful. Warm. Knowing.


Pure like rainfall on the scorched earth.

Pure like the first trill of birdsong just before sunrise.


She knew blood, sweat, passion, and pain.

Like all women do.


I don’t see her likeness anywhere.

Is she not safe?


Where is the Mary of night sweats and arthritis?

Where is the Mary of wiry gray hair and righteous indignation?


Where is wrinkled Mary? 

Where is Our Lady of No Minced Words?


This is the Mary I seek.

Can you see her?

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Here are some images created with the help of AI as I begin to imagine what Crone Mary might look like to me.