Super Crone book by Deb Coy

Super Crone

My false teeth are bullets 

fit to take on the coarsest cob.

My gray hair, camouflage—

blending me into invisibility.

Everywhere I go I am not seen—

my face denies disguise, because I am disguise.

My cloudy eyes see the halo of the moon.

What I can’t hear translates to the music of Glass.

Each day I anticipate the next-door rooster’s crow.

My grumpy laude foretells the morning,

my vespers, a powerful call to night.

My mission is to survive.

Don’t Call Me Sweetie

Maybe my face 

has melted like wax

and I no longer bleed.

Maybe I have fewer years ahead.

Maybe I have become smaller.

Perhaps I forget things.

Don’t call me sweetie

like I deserve an address

that envelopes me.

I am still eighteen inside.

I understand many jokes.

I love to love.

I put my shoes on

one at a time.

Don’t call me sweetie

like I am tiny and could

be put in a shoe box

and given for Christmas.

I still remember being you,

fresh as today’s special.

We made our own language

like you do now, 

like my parents did.

When you come 

to give me coffee dear, 

remember, don’t ever 

call me sweetie.

What others are saying about Super Crone:

In a rare collection that melds wit with poignancy, Deborah Coy’s poems lead us through the well-lived and well-loved life of a woman who proclaims, “Shiny with age/I fiddle with the braille of past feasts.” But these poems do not belabor what was. They emerge, sexy and irreverent, tender and familiar, to celebrate adventure and surprise, that is, to eloquently record a common yet extraordinary life. Fierce witness of the present, Coy insists she will “rise in the stirrups and shout, “hallelujah"—We are lucky to join the ride.

—Barbara Rockman, author, “to cleave”

Deborah Coy embraces the spirit of The Crone throughout this book, bringing her indelible wit and wisdom to the page as she looks back on childhood, family, sex, religion, and politics through the eyes of a woman who accepts aging and even the inevitability of death. Her trademark humor is on full display whether she describes herself (“my skin is / one size too large”), her rejection of God (“I thought I had love / but he unfriended me”), or those with Santa fetishes (“They croon ‘Santa Baby’ / when they see my package.”). She can be cantankerous or sweet, erotic or serious—often all at once—like the Super Crone she envisions. Not just a hand-me-down crone of folklore, Coy creates her own folklore here, including in a series of Josephine poems. In contemplating her composted body, she claims “I will be delicious.” Indeed, she already is. Taste! You won’t be disappointed.

            — Scott Wiggerman, Albuquerque poet, instructor, editor, artist

This is a consummate book of poetry written by an inspired, mature poet. Deb Coy has been writing all her life, and this is the book of a lifetime filled with enchanting and imaginative details of nature and deep insights into sensual and emotional experience. Her language is inventive and often clever in her turns of phrase and observations that surprise the reader. Highly original in the subjects she contemplates, Coy’s style is brilliant. Super Crone is a penetrating exploration of the nature of aging and of nature itself in its solitary and overwhelming presence. 

— Carol Moscrip, six chapbooks and Straw, poems, Pushcart Prize nominee 

Deborah Coy’s Super Crone tackles aging head on, with humor, depth, and empathy. A seasoned poet, Deborah integrates many techniques and points of view, delighting the reader with her perceptions and insights. Small turns of phrases transform poems from funny to tragic and back again. She includes recollections of childhood and family, and rich descriptions of love, illness, and politics. In “Snow Sketch of Potrero,” she gives a touching description of how various plants “balance their allotment” of snow. Like these lovely plants, Deborah poems balance their allotment of words beautifully. Highly Recommended. — Dee Cohen Bruno