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Jochebed, revised
| Open Poetry #7 |
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Jochebed, revised |
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H. Arlequin Member
since 1999-08-23
Posts 210 |
These poems, parts of the Women of the Word series, deal with the perspective of Jochebed, mother of three heroes of the exodus. The voice is hers except for Miriam's after her mother's death. Jochebed I Amram, husband II Aaron, eldest son III Miriam, eldest IV Moses, spokesman for I Am V Mother, laid to rest I Amram, Husband I am a slave, Israeli chattel stock, predestined seed, a numbered grain of sand from vested hills as far as eye could see, and yet enslaved to dread the auction block. A cruel jest, that whispered promised land while Yakov's waiting heirs are property. No angel visitation spoke the word that from this womb three prophets birth, Aaron to be high priest unto Shalom; Miriam's freedom songs the crossing stirred; at eighty Moses called ten plagues to earth, and Ramses' chariots chase the chosen home. II Aaron, eldest son To mortals, Timelessness seems mystery, His methodology is unlike theirs He being faithful to His spoken word. From birth, Aaron was wise in history of patriarchs, the bondage of their heirs caught fire in him, as if His voice was heard. III Miriam, eldest Miriam, our first gifted child, a quick and clever youth beyond her age, as guardian of the bulrushed ark of pitch, wise pharaoh's daughter easily beguiled, suggesting I as nurse, she should engage, thus Moses would grow up with Egypt's rich. This select vessel had her feet of clay. "Have we not also prophesied?" she spoke in momentary envy of the one who led. Made leporous, she heard Moses pray her restoration, and seven days awoke outside the camp, as fresh as morning sun. IV Moses, spokesman for I Am To Egypt, Josef's brothers came and stayed to multiply till numbered more than those whose land it was, and pharaoh had decreed us slaves. When growing more, a law was made to kill Israeli newborn sons, to close the lists on armies from an alien seed. Though praying for a barren womb, a son was born to die. Those labored pangs I cursed, to feel the body torn, to scream in pain yet know before this breast had feasts begun its little guest at pharaoh's word was burst, aborting dreams which could not live again. Before the midwife came at light of day, within a woven basket pitched with tar I hid him in the Nile where nobles bathe. The miracle of Moses royal stay, a princess claimed the son pharaoh would bar, made me wetnurse, her son and mine to save. He was in line to sit on Egypt's throne at forty years, but Moses saw a slave abused, one of his clansmen was struck down. Enraged he killed. I begged him to atone, to flee alone to Midian, a grave and ruined heir to Egypt's fabled crown. Had he been king, he could have blessed his own, instead his soul endured a wilderness of arid rocky waste. Zipporah came, mature, sedate, a desert blossom known to water at the well. Denied access till Moses fought, her life was his to claim. She bore him sons, reflective quietude her gift, as well, to one who could not find direction for the soul, until the Flame of Fire would not consume the bush. That Food, inspired his will, spoke Purpose to his mind of promises He'd given by faith in the Name. Ten signs were shown to change a pharaoh's will: a bloody Nile three days for all to drink, a cloud of gnats that landed Egypt breathes, a plague where only royal livestock dies, a hailstone fury killing man and beast, a Stygian darkness to endure by day, a layer of frogs that caused the world to stink, a swarm of bottle flies to bring disease, a flood of running boils in ears and eyes, a sky filled black as locusts spread to feast, a plague upon the house, all firstborn pay, Ten plagues, the cost His promise to fulfill. Four hundred thirty years from birth to wait the exodus, its joy of being free, exultant liberty in dance and praise, six hundred thousand exit Rameses' gate. "In youthful haste, the Promised Land I'll see to spend in gratitude my waning days. The Great Sea road to Zion is not long, with caravans and forts along the way. Why then the Red Sea at out backs, the dust of chariots too near? The winds will throng her waters back and on dry land display the route to home, yet swallow the unjust." Once through the sea, the ecstasy would last the weary miles till rest at Sinai, where Moses saw the Lord in radiance, as moral law in stone was etched. The past would not stay past, misguided grumblers try a slave's return, the calf of gold for guidance. V Mother, laid to rest When disbelief had come, her deepest grief had won and I, her daughter Miriam, have laid to rest the light that gave me birth. This wilderness is still our home, relief for none alive, a generation come so far, dying as rebels doomed to earth. At Joshua's side I thought of Jochebed, while people gathered at the Jordan, hushed as Moses climbed his last to Nebo's heights. My brothers gone, our generation's dead, yet, Yakov will recall when victory flushed, three heroes He embraced to win their rights. --H. Arlequin . . . . . Women of the Word Poems from the Goober Tree http://nathoo.wustl.edu/goober_tree.htm |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
You bring a new freshness and life to these long ago people!  Denise |
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