(Wendy Cabell, a previously written poem revisited December 31, 2020, feast day of Saint Melania the Younger; of Saint Zoticus, Cherisher of the Poor; and one of the feast days of the (above) Unfading Bloom Icon of the Mother of God.)
Saint Rose of Berkeley
Isaiah 'twas foretold it,
The Rose I have in mind,
With Mary we behold it,
The virgin mother kind.
-- from the traditional hymn
'Lo, how a rose e'er blooming',
based on Isaiah 11:1
We don't always know their names. Or where they're from.
Or if they're even a Saint at all. But can't help believing
in Saint Rose of Berkeley.
Age 22, glance up from my tea, spot her.
Sidewalking past the cafe tables. Calm, no hurry.
No dawdling either. Purposeful, might say.
And bearing roses, handing out, in the
fresh soft sun of that Mother's Day.
One slid to me next, "But I'm not a mother",
"Yes you are, it's ~inside~ you", says she.
Eyes so steady, such sweetness, they venture on.
Always wondered, the backstory, in memory of a child?
Or her own mother? Or simply to wake women up
to something inside them. Something invisibly real
like the scent of roses.
Scent that lingers, through to winter
a neighboring town, bookshop.
Those little Hanukkah poems just glowed
on the shelf. One etched in, how
Some say women are nothing.
Well, maybe it's true.
Nothing, like the dip in the pot.
Nothing, like the hole in the flute.
Nothing, like Shabbat in the week.*
Nothing --
hollowed,
hallowed.
And
now it's today. Scripture reading is Genesis 2:2
truth really is stranger than fiction, reads:
This one shall be called woman.**
Woman, female, one with a womb.
Not just of body, of spirit.
Was this what Saint Rose proclaims, cupping the rose?
Time will tell. But there's a bond in the carrying,
shared breath, DNA. So she's one who would know.
Know far better than Shakespeare she would,
just what's in a Rose.***
*This Hanukkah poem is approximate here, as remembered, from a little homespun book of Hanukkah poems found that year in a now closed bookshop (Mama Bear's, Oakland, CA). Never have been able to find that lovely poem again, or its author. If anyone's in the know, would sure welcome hearing from you.
** Literally, Genesis 2:23 was the day's reading when writing this part of poem. The verse feels clarified in 1 Corinthians 11:12,
For as woman is made from man,
so man is now born of woman:
And all things are from God.
*** The rose, as Unfading Bloom, is an ancient emblem, which has been used both for Christ, and for the Blessed Virgin Mary, who bore Him.