Matriarch Poem by Therese Pace

Offspring,
like your ancestors before you,
obsequious come to me,
your root, for inspiration.

My profile says I am dame chubbiness
no cutback, no bridle, no rubber,
fat goddess of the Temple
of fecund timelessness
of wide Cycladic hips,
enormous bosom.
Legend. Matriarch.

Beyond the centuries
I reared humanity to exuberance
on milk and honey,
kinship and resilience,
the early morning rays
reverent, servile, entering the door
to kiss my feet in homage.

This atavistic journey that I started
-and Meskhenet endorsed-
somewhere between then and now
from a cluster of sown stars
milky white as pearls,
has landed me here, in heraldry.

Much have I acquired. Lost.
Much have I bestowed from my quagmire:
blood, spirit, continuity-a thread
passed on in honour of material.


Jealous, trends and elements
are after my longevity.
Anxious, I watch you from afar
freaks, stumps, skeletons
resigned to an age of monologues.
Come. My belly holds the secret
of survival, yours, the duty towards life.