Maya Bernstein’s poems are from a manuscript-in-progress called The Woman of Valour that explores the inner thoughts and experiences of a modern eshet chayil, or woman of valour. It is a portion from chapter 31 of Proverbs, and is traditionally sung before Shabbat.
The Woman of Valour Sings Psalm 145
A Psalm of Praise:
Blessed are those who bless God
Continuously
Devout. But behind
Every God is a Woman of Valour,
Frying potatoes in a spitting
Greased pan, wanting to know
How to be slower to anger, more
Infinitely patient, how to remove
Jelly stains from tablecloths, oil stench from
Kerchiefs. It’s written, “The Almighty
Lord is near to all who call,” but it’s the quiet
Mother, the reliable, tiptoeing woman, who is
Needed. It’s she who hears
Open-mouthed cries, whispered
Prayers. She who delivers and fulfills. With her
Quill, she sketches faithful fantasies in circles,
Rends ancient versions of her foremothers’
Secrets, places them at the proper time on her
Tongue. Truthful, she adds a binding
Under the spine. Coats it with an enduring
Varnish until it hardens into a book.
Wintertime, in the garden, she marks a tree with an
X, and buries it in the frozen ground. Then, she shoulders her
Yellow bathrobe, brews a cup of mint-leaf tea with lemon
Zest, takes a long hot bath, and opens her palms forever and ever.
The Woman of Valour Cleans for Passover
Don’t eat in the car!
If we have to escape, it
needs to be clean for
Passover. Yellow
daffodils. Cheerio.
crumbs. Magnolia
blossoms. Under couch
pillows: pretzels, a Post-it
with a private prayer.
I make batch after
batch of pesto in the small
Kosher for Passover
Cuisinart. Eggs are
a symbol of birds, birth,
blight. We eat them hard
boiled. I wade through the sea
of single unmatched socks,
found in drawer after drawer.
My Passover salt
shaker is twice the size of
my regular one.
One is not required
to search for bread in places
bread should not be found.
A woman who cleans
for Passover is cracked,
bound, mocked by jasmine air.
The Woman of Valour is Like Hadasa, Also Known As Esther
I wait like God waits, wild,
panting. Like Hadasa,
also known as Esther,
I use my lips to slip inside
the palace, that world of men-
ace, where guards grip sticks.
Behind me there’s a figure watching you
gaze at my cocked brow, my erect
hat flap. Right pinkie raised as if for tea,
my horse has seen a thing or two or three—
of course your eyes are fixed on me.
Maya Bernstein’s poems are from a manuscript-in-progress called The Woman of Valour that explores the inner thoughts and experiences of a modern eshet chayil, or woman of valour. It is a portion from chapter 31 of Proverbs, and is traditionally sung before Shabbat.
The Woman of Valour Sings Psalm 145
A Psalm of Praise:
Blessed are those who bless God
Continuously
Devout. But behind
Every God is a Woman of Valour,
Frying potatoes in a spitting
Greased pan, wanting to know
How to be slower to anger, more
Infinitely patient, how to remove
Jelly stains from tablecloths, oil stench from
Kerchiefs. It’s written, “The Almighty
Lord is near to all who call,” but it’s the quiet
Mother, the reliable, tiptoeing woman, who is
Needed. It’s she who hears
Open-mouthed cries, whispered
Prayers. She who delivers and fulfills. With her
Quill, she sketches faithful fantasies in circles,
Rends ancient versions of her foremothers’
Secrets, places them at the proper time on her
Tongue. Truthful, she adds a binding
Under the spine. Coats it with an enduring
Varnish until it hardens into a book.
Wintertime, in the garden, she marks a tree with an
X, and buries it in the frozen ground. Then, she shoulders her
Yellow bathrobe, brews a cup of mint-leaf tea with lemon
Zest, takes a long hot bath, and opens her palms forever and ever.
The Woman of Valour Cleans for Passover
Don’t eat in the car!
If we have to escape, it
needs to be clean for
Passover. Yellow
daffodils. Cheerio.
crumbs. Magnolia
blossoms. Under couch
pillows: pretzels, a Post-it
with a private prayer.
I make batch after
batch of pesto in the small
Kosher for Passover
Cuisinart. Eggs are
a symbol of birds, birth,
blight. We eat them hard
boiled. I wade through the sea
of single unmatched socks,
found in drawer after drawer.
My Passover salt
shaker is twice the size of
my regular one.
One is not required
to search for bread in places
bread should not be found.
A woman who cleans
for Passover is cracked,
bound, mocked by jasmine air.
The Woman of Valour is Like Hadasa, Also Known As Esther
I wait like God waits, wild,
panting. Like Hadasa,
also known as Esther,
I use my lips to slip inside
the palace, that world of men-
ace, where guards grip sticks.
Behind me there’s a figure watching you
gaze at my cocked brow, my erect
hat flap. Right pinkie raised as if for tea,
my horse has seen a thing or two or three—
of course your eyes are fixed on me.