Leah

“Rachel and Leah” by James Tissot

“…bury me with my fathers…. There they buried Abraham and Sarah…Isaac and Rebekah…and there I buried Leah” – Jacob in Genesis 49:29-31

The morning after Jacob lay with me
even my weak eyes saw his anger.
When I give him a son
he will love me.

Even my weak eyes saw his joy
at the births of Reuben and Simeon
will he finally love me
after Levi, Judah?

At the births of Reuben and Simeon.
Rachel brooded.
After Levi, Judah
she fumed and schemed.

Rachel brooded
bargained for my son’s mandrakes.*
She fumed and schemed
at Zebulun—my sixth!

The bargained-for mandrakes
have produced a son at last.
Zebulun, my sixth
followed by Joseph, Rachel’s first.

Have produced a second son—her last.
She died birthing Benjamin
who followed Joseph, Rachel’s first.
Still Jacob doesn’t love me.

Though she died birthing Benjamin
and I gave him six sons
still Jacob doesn’t love me
though forever now Jacob lies with me.

- Violet Nesdoly – January 2013

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This bittersweet love poem is from a new project I’ve begun: writing poems about the women in the Bible.

You may know the story of Leah. She was the oldest daughter of Laban and sister of Rachel. Rachel was beautiful and Jacob, son of Isaac and Rebekah, fell in love with her, then  worked seven years to earn the right to marry her. But on the wedding night, the girls’ father (Laban) switched Leah (who is described as having “weak eyes”) for Rachel, telling his disappointed son-in-law the next morning that it wasn’t customary to give the younger daughter in marriage before the older one was married. A week later Laban gave Rachel to Jacob as a second wife on the condition Jacob would serve him another seven years. The jealousy and friction in that home are well documented in Genesis.

The voice in the poem is Leah’s from beyond the grave. And maybe she’s wrong. Maybe Jacob did come to love her, seeing that he chose to be buried near to her and not Rachel.

This poem is based loosely on Adele Kenny’s prompt about the old becoming new again. I chose the pantoum form because it literally circles back to the beginning.

(*Mandrakes were thought to be an aphrodisiac. In the story, Leah’s oldest son brought them to his mother, but Rachel persuaded Leah to give them to her in exchange for a night with Jacob.)

This poem is part of Poetry Friday, hosted today by the wonderful Linda at Teacherdance.

U-days

It no longer matters that I’m not good at basketball.
Who cares that I’m the oldest of nine.
Don’t follow my example now!
University is the place to discover myself.

Who cares that I’m the oldest of nine?
My high school dates were awkward and pimply.
University is the place to discover myself
and ace Philosophy.

My high school dates were awkward and pimply –
now every man is mine for the dreaming.
Who knew that I would ace Philosophy
and move from the prairies to the sea?

Now every career is mine for the dreaming
though inbred practicality never forsakes
even when I move from the prairies to the sea
settle in as a teacher.

Inbred practicality never forsakes.
Don’t follow my example now
settle in as a teacher
where it matters again that I’m not good at basketball.

© 2009 by Violet Nesdoly

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This is a poem inspired by the March 2009 prompt at Poets Online which challenged: “Write a poem that addresses the age in which you, or the voice of your poem, were, or will be, most yourself.” The entire prompt and published responses are here.

Calendar

Essence of spring drifts from the sticky buds,
Robin’s lively lilt now wakes me early.
Under the clouds, crocuses clutch a tight bouquet.
Humming lawnmowers are summer’s elevator music.

Robin’s lively lilt now wakes me early,
The smell of sun screen seeps through all my clothes.
Humming lawnmowers are summer’s elevator music.
Fruit stand has berries and apples by the box!

The smell of sun screen seeps through all my clothes;
Your fun is over, mocks the drenching rain.
Fruit stand has pears and apples by the box:
Houses don sequins and tuxedos.

Your fun is over, mocks the drenching rain.
We laugh and push each other’s cars through mounds of snow.
Houses doff sequins and tuxedos:
Naked trees stand pensive in the cold.

We laugh and push each other’s cars through mounds of snow
Under the clouds, crocuses clutch a tight bouquet.
Naked trees stand pensive in the cold;
Essence of spring drifts from the sticky buds.

© 2002 – Utmost Christian Writers Gallery Archive. Also published in Calendar, 2004