(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 even
if they're a Saint at all. But can't help believing
in Saint Rose of Berkeley.
Age 22, looking up from my tea, I spotted
her. Walking the sidewalk along the cafe
tables. Calm, no hurry. But no dawdling
either. Purposeful, might say. And bearing
roses. Handing one to all the mothers, in the
fresh soft sun of that Mother's Day. But
then felt one in my hand. Hand that so wanted
the rose. "How lovely! But I'm not a mother",
said I. "Yes you are, it's ~inside~ you", said
she. Such steady eyes, such sweetness. Wouldn't
do for such hands to be empty. Of course they
came bearing roses. And then she was gone.
Always wondered at the backstory. Was
this 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 of that day lingers,
though not over yet. That winter
a neighbouring 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
of all things. Scouts honor. 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 proclaimed,
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 whats 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.
