She was there on the mountain,

still as the fig tree and the failed wheat.

Only the lizards and a few goats moved.

Everything stunned by heat and silence.

I would get to the top of the terraced starkness

with my ankles cut by thistles and all of me

drained by the effort in the fierce light.

I would put the pomegranate and the anise

and a few daisies on the great rock

where the fountain was long ago.

Too tired to praise. And found each time

tenderness and abundance in the bareness.

Went back down knowing I would sleep clean.

That She would be awake all year with sun

and dirt and rain. Pride Her life.

All nature Her wealth. Sound of owls Her pillow.

Linda Gregg

In honor of Mother’s Day it seems appropriate to read a poem in praise of the Goddess.

Although She is not identified, the images bring to mind the Mediterranean hills – the fig tree, goats and thistles; the long climb and fierce light. At the ancient altar where once a fountain flowed, the poet places a pomegranate, symbol of Hera, queen of the Greek pantheon.

What happens when a goddess disappears? When sacrifices are no longer made or candles lit? Where once choirs sang in praise there is now only silence. What happens when She grows old and is no longer needed? 

Over the centuries, the beliefs of mankind may change, and the name given to identify the divine may be made of other sounds spoken in other tongues. But the divine has many faces and many names. In the Silence of Eternity, She is not absent or asleep. Her watchfulness is everlasting, Her creation ever abundant, and like a good mother, her care ever tender. When we call “Ma”, her original name, she answers.

Linda Gregg is a contemporary poet who died in 2019.  U.S. poet laureate, W. S. Merwin said of Gregg’s poems, “They are original in the way that really matters: they speak clearly of their source…. They convey at once the pain of individual loss, a steady and utterly personal radiance.”