I
Towers of salted fish unfresh,
preserved post-process – th’shoreline sees
these caught ‘n hand-curated catch,
collected; basket-bound.
‘Long th’Way Of Horus (northward; east),
the town of Nunnaya does rest
‘n rise ‘n work, its scents ‘n sounds
onto the skyways latch.
Judaic Galilee gathered
its towns ‘n villages to thrive
amidst the rocky rises dressed
in streams ‘n juniper.
Th’fertility of fields alive!
The wand’ring of the flock shepherd!
Wildflower flora! Rainfall surge!
Abundance! Bird’s wing blessed!
Empire, from Republic born,
sees ordered bounty under fist.
All ‘bout the lake, this inland sea,
prosperity doth preach!
The sails of fishing boats, sun-kissed;
the dock-stone stretch, by sandal worn –
pattering by, her bare, young feet
carry Maryam free…
II
She Who Is Beloved –
Merit…
She walks on water’s shores.
III
The second eve of the new moon
o’er Magdala Nunnaya t’was
when th’woman ‘n her mother came,
duskfire fading above.
Pregnant with imminence announced,
the daughter, ‘top their donkey, writhed.
In urgent fear, the mother found
an empty stable – ‘pon the ground,
from what was left inside,
lay out a bed where, b’fore the morn’,
a girl with knowing eyes was born.
IV
“Qasheeta!” Young Maryam called
from where she lazed on th’oak tree’s limb.
Her grandmother, approaching slow,
without looking, replied:
“What would you do if, by some sin,
this tree were felled?” Reply: “I’d fall!”
Th’old woman, laughing softly, sighed:
“You’d be without a home…”
They looked down at the village ‘til,
on looking up at her grandchild,
she cried out as the viper moved
its black-blotched form above.
Maryam turned; her eyes grew wild –
the serpent spoke its fiery will!
Her grandmother, reaching in love,
a guarding angel proved!
Fallen, the viper fled. Tears fell
when th’grandmother, that night, passed on,
the venom finished at its work.
Shroud; soil; dirgesong; bereft.
Her mother ‘n grandmother – long
was Maryam in sorrow knelt
before a tomb. Now all she’d left
was the world before her…
V
Merit-Yeshwa –
compan’yun…
Her bodysoul his muse.
VI
Within her mother’s arms, she slept.
“Beloved…” Mother’s mother spoke.
The daughter born for th’sun to rise –
within her, knowing woke.
Soon welcomed by the fishing town,
this trinity found paradise.
Maryam learned to crawl on th’stone
that paved the harbour of her home,
the future in her eyes.
She learned to walk where trade was done;
b’side men’s moored boats she learned to run.
VII
Deep into loneliness she fell,
e’en with community at hand.
Her tree of knowing peace she shunned.
At night, she wandered far.
Cold-dark, the Filasṭīn’yun land
of Second Temple stories tells.
For forty nights, her grief-shaped scars
tempted her, silver-tongued.
Scaling Mount Arbel, there she stayed
amongst the mountain people, who,
resistant to occupation,
made their proud assembly.
Qahal; Ben Knesset; Shul – refuge
of th’Jewish people! Cliffs ‘n caves
made dwelling-place for worship free!
She fought t’become no-one.
“Your grief is seven layers deep;
your bitterness is sevenfold.”
Maryam, of the Elder, asked:
“How, then, might I be healed?”
“Time.” The adolescent was told.
“Your pain is something you will keep
until your purpose is revealed;
until these days have passed…”
VIII
Merit… Miriam…
Maryam Magdala.
Apostle to apostles.
IX
The family made wares to sell –
clothes, baskets, nets. They made repairs.
She ran t’deliver messages,
th’wind’s wisdom through her hair.
Her mother slipped slowly away,
as sickness spread indiff’rently.
The middle generation gone,
its child ‘n mother living on…
Maryam sought that tree
‘neath which they’d shared her whole lifetime
‘n fin’lly braved the upward climb.
Image credit – Robert Lentz
william altoft 