What is Light- Rebecca Rehfeld, Thanksgiving Day, November 22, 2007
Even now
I cannot speak his name,
that boy,
so sweet with intention,
he could not bear it when I removed
my coif to free my hair,
and placed his soft hand against my breast.
I cannot speak of my boldness
because I fear one day we may be in the
annals of this new world -
for surely they will write of this barren, empty land we call
Plymouth Rock.
Aptly named,
so thoroughly has she rejected us
she would spit us back into the Atlantic
if she could.
Will they romanticize
and use words like "courageous?"
Or, will they recognize it for what it was
A people who,
forced to set aside their beliefs,
chose uncertainty and death -
and found both.
Even now
when I close my eyes
I am 15 again,
in high winds riding the waves,
my body balances easily with the pitch and toss of the ship,
intoxicated by the way she toys with us -
She could take us at any time.
And my Father,
so weak he can hardly stand straight,
wonders if it was folly,
and worries so about Mother -
I am invisible.
The boy,
unable to tolerate sea life
hides in the bilge
and lays his head in my lap
face down after being sick
consumed by shame.
I stroke his hair and allow my fingers to trace
his profile,
the softness of his wide lips,
feel the drag of his young beard
and the wilted lace at his collar,
then slip my hand under his doublet.
But he groans and turns away.
"it's alright. Only one of us needs to be strong," I whisper.
Sometimes, even I am afraid of my strength.
We have been on the Mayflower for nearly two months,
and what began as low whispers in the early days
has grown to strident disagreement,
even accusation.
Some want to turn back.
Others are certain we're lost.
And still others hold fast.
I have to watch the dogs
They will steal my mother's food
if I turn away for even a moment.
And last night, a handful of men met with my father
in secret
asking him to take over.
I was fiercely proud,
But surprised when my father declined
and instead spoke of prayer, community and purpose.
The men became angry and for days after
sent dark looks our way.
Even now
I can see the way the land looked in those snowy
November moments before the morning light;
purple, gray, brown -
colors I hadn't seen on the horizon for months.
I called for my father, my mother,
I wanted to call for the boy
but instead called for the Ship's Master.
Suddenly everyone was on deck;
even the sick,
straining to believe what they saw.
------ ------ ------
Father died within the year,
didn't live long enough to plant even one crop.
Mother followed him a month later.
They shuffled me to the Carvers,
who died trying to plant their first field,
and I was left to wonder about a God
who would crush good people.
I had just turned 16
when John found me in the high heat of day,
alone on that rocky sliver of land,
working the plow against an unrelenting earth
that now held so many of us,
my Father, my Mother,
the Carvers,
perhaps even the boy -
I couldn't know.
Even now
I remember the way he rode up fast,
the way he reined his horse up short,
the way his eyes widened as he took in
my unrestrained hair
naked arms
and open bodice,
the flex of my muscles
I remember the way he slid easily from the beast's back
and knelt to take the earth in his fingers.
I turned away to smooth my hair,
to pull my clothing,
and my senses,
together -
and when I turned back
for the first time, I understood
how a burden
can become light.
What is Light - The Boy
- Rebecca Rehfeld, November 23, 2007
I dare not speak the name
of that red-haired aristocrat -
the girl, whose father seeks peace, still.
Day after day on this wretched boat
we watch our dignity unravel
The men seem smaller
The women harder
and the children always hungry
One was nearly swept overboard today
and I was unable to do more than call out.
I dare not speak her name
because one day when this is over
and we are there,
or dead,
someone, somewhere will write about it
And I could not bear for people to know
how much I admired her strength,
the way she cared for her mother, believed in her father,
danced wild with the wind,
and ran barefoot across the flat planks until it grew too cold,
often showing me more than her toes.
No, I could not bear for anyone to know
That, at 17, I could not match her strength
or return her love.
It was forbidden to be on deck in a storm
yet one mid-October gale several weeks into
the voyage, we stole above.
Rain had just begun to fall
and the ragged wind tore at everything.
I begged her to let us return below
but she laughed and pulled at one of the ties of her coif
letting the wind do the rest
It was a brazen move.
Her red hair splayed against her shoulders
and down her back
She turned to me, then
and began to loosen her bodice
until the wind blew her naked
She laughed and caressed herself
then swept her arms wide, and invited me closer.
When I didn't move
she took my hands
and placed them against her bare breasts
I wanted to feel something, to be excited,
but the roll of the waves was too much,
and I turned away, sick
I fled to the darkest corner of the bilge
where it stank so badly
no one could tolerate it
Perhaps it was shock -
What man expects a girl
a good girl
to strip in a storm,
on an over-crowded ship
where anyone might see?
I reached down and groped my length,
thinking to punish myself for not wanting her
and was surprised when the hardness came
She found me in this state
and drew me to her lap
where I hid my face for long moments
This woman-child
whose name I dare not say
began to trace the length of my face
down my throat,
under my doublet and trousers
and because I was still hard, I let her
But her touch was distracting and in a moment
I was no longer a man
I pushed her hand aside and turned to the wall
"It's alright," she whispered
"Only one of us needs to be strong."
What is Light - The Father
- Rebecca Rehfeld, November 24, 2007
I am a man of peace!
What do they want from me?
We are all of us
hungry
and cold!
So many are sick,
the relentless rocking curdles our stomachs
and the wind never ceases.
At night, it sounds like the wail of a lost soul
denied heaven
and unwilling to enter hell.
A handful of men -
good men
hardened by fear,
came in secret a fortnight ago to tell me
the firewood has grown dangerously low.
Soon, we'll have to spend what little strength we have
to tear apart the ship.
Already we have begun to tear at each other.
And that fool for a ship's master,
they think he may not even know where we are.
But I am a man of peace!
Why do they turn to me?
They spoke of overthrowing the council -
How could I sanction premeditated betrayal?
For the first time, I realized how easy it is
to hold moral ground
to be just
to follow God's commandments
when the bellies of men are full
and their women, contented.
When I think of the choices I have already made
just to survive -
And my daughter,
this is no place for her.
There is not even a small corner
to preserve a modicum of privacy
she has seen too much.
After the men left
she looked at me with eyes that held no light
She does not yet know,
that the true measure of a man is defined as much
by his choices
as by his actions -
and that "no" can be as courageous as "yes"
I hope, at least, to teach her this.
What is Light - The Mother
- Rebecca Rehfeld, November 24, 2007
I am dying
My husband knows this
but will not accept it,
and my daughter cannot know
She is so fierce -
the youngest and most brave
of all our children.
The light of curiosity burns within,
and we have taught her to believe she can
accomplish anything.
She will be the only one of us who survives this.
I know,
because
although he tries to hide it
my husband is failing, too.
I see the way he can no longer stand straight
The way he gives us most of his daily rations.
How will he build our farm in the new land?
My sister and her husband
have come on this wretched voyage, too.
They are wild-eyed with fear
A few weeks ago, their little boy was almost swept overboard
It was that lusty young man, John
who saved the child.
We don't see much of him
I can't imagine where he keeps himself
on this ship where there is no such thing
as privacy.
They tell me he is a hired man, the youngest son
born to a gentleman farmer, and thus, no inheritance.
He will be free when we reach the new land.
I can't help but wish my daughter had been on deck
to see him rescue the boy
Even in my old age and poor health
the sight of him
as the light played against his muscular frame
made me catch my breath.
But she was below deck, sorting rations
and keeping the dogs at bay.
If I had even a moment's doubt about
the likelihood of my recovery
it was dashed today when we saw the new world
on the horizon.
Even the knowledge that we had
ridden the relentless Atlantic, and won
could not release me from the grip of melancholy
or tamp the incessant cough,
or clot the blood.
What is Light - The Ship's Master
- Rebecca Rehfeld, November 24, 2007
August 1, 1620:
The Mayflower and the Speedwell
have been commissioned at last!
100 people,
Separatists who suffer religious persecution,
And Strangers, who hold no particular religious loyalty
have elected to cross the Atlantic -
to settle in Jamestown on the Hudson -
to begin again in a new land.
I, Christopher Jones, am the Ship's Master.
September 6, 1620
The Speedwell has sprung a leak;
It is patched,
but we may have to turn back.
September 10, 1620
The Speedwell has sprung another leak
and is unseaworthy
I saw the disappointment on their faces
but they did not hesitate.
We are all to cross on the Mayflower.
September 12, 1620
The Mayflower is a sweet ship
Year-over-year, leakage from the wine casks,
has neutralized the garbage and other filth
thrown into the hold by sailors too lazy
to hoist it overboard
Disease should not be a problem on this voyage.
September 16, 1620:
After some delay, we have weighed anchor
We are now, all 100 of us on the Mayflower
It is difficult
These people are not used to such a lack of privacy
Uneasy on my mind is that sabotage of the Speedwell
is suspected
September 21, 1620:
This is the last time I will agree
To make this voyage
The Atlantic, always treacherous
Is wretched this time of year
Five days out and already I see signs of dissension
among the ranks, and the passengers
September 27, 1620:
I have heard quiet grumblings among the men
They think we are lost
I have shown them time and again
the light in the night sky
and explained which stars are used
to navigate
October 2, 1620:
It grows worse
I had to give one of the men,
loud with baseless accusation,
a thorough drubbing
Morale is dangerously low.
October 16, 1620:
These foolish, foolish people!
Today we almost lost a child
A child!
because of carelessness
If it hadn't been for my hired man, John,
the child would surely have drowned
October 23, 1620:
I know they are plotting
One of the council leaders came to warn me
of a possible mutiny.
Worse, today, I was able to confirm what I have
suspected for some time -
The inclement weather has forced us off course
How far, I cannot say.
November 1, 1620:
Time grows long
Almost everyone is either sick
Or weary
Or both
And I am nearly undone
The skies are unyielding
unreadable
and the ship's compass has been destroyed
by the constant damp
November 9, 1620
Today, after 65 days at sea, we heard a joyful cry
It was the girl,
the spirited one with the red hair who saw it first - land!
There, in the morning light,
land became visible on the horizon
As if waking from the dead,
men and women crawled from below,
to see what the light had brought.
November 11, 1620
At last, we have reached land
We were blown off course so often,
it will take some time to determine where we are
This is not the rich land of the Hudson
All the same, thanks be to God Almighty
who has led us to the shores
of a new land.
What is Light - John
- Rebecca Rehfeld, November 24, 2007
The first time I saw her she was fending off the dogs,
who were docile enough during the day
but at night, formed a pack to catch rats
and anything else they could find.
Food left for her sick mother
was an easy target.
She was magnificent
and sent the dogs howling as they scattered.
I made her out to be about 16,
a girl, really, not yet quite a woman.
I learned her name much later - Elizabeth;
I don't think she saw me at all.
The next time I saw her
she and that boy were sneaking
up to the deck in the early moments
of a storm.
I followed, intending to warn them
but became transfixed
as the wind sent her white coif flying overboard.
I watched her laugh and tease the boy
more playful than lusty.
She reached up and loosened her hair.
It rained red down her back, past her hips
and whipped sideways into the wind.
I tried again to warn them
but my warning stopped short in my throat
when she began to loosen the ties of her bodice
until the wind blew her naked to the waist.
She raised her head
and danced across the deck letting the rain bathe
her bare
It was all I could do to keep my balance.
When lightening flashed, the boy turned
and ran away
retching as he went
Poor kid just couldn't get his sea legs.
She never knew that I saw them that day
She left soon after the boy, taking the back way
down to the bilge.
Afterward,
I could not get her out of my head
- forget what I'd seen in that dark devil of a storm
A few days later, land was spotted on the horizon
and the real work began.
We were thankful to be done with the sea
but it was a desolate land,
No homes, or fires, or food awaited us.
Only an unrelenting wind,
and winter, colder than we'd ever known.
When the common buildings had been
thatched together,
acreage agreed upon,
and a few homes fashioned,
only 49 of us remained
to begin our first season of planting.
Scurvy and pneumonia had claimed 51 lives
But spring had come
And the promise of light-filled days
was upon us.
By now,
Elizabeth was orphaned
and living with the Carvers
until one day in late May
we learned there had been a farm accident
and only Elizabeth survived
When the news came that she was
working the land alone
I could stay away no longer
she was only 16,
I hoped it was old enough
I'd never been to the Carvers' land
Came upon it faster than intended
and had to rein my horse up short
She was in the field working
sweat trickled down the open bodice
between her breasts
her tanned arms were bare and flexed against the plow
Her eyes widened as I slid out of the saddle
And when I bent to touch the earth
it was because I was surprised to find
that she had already plowed most of the field
She turned away from me
and I watched as she smoothed her hair
the way a woman will.
When she turned back
there was warmth in her eyes
And in that light-filled moment she said,
"It's you."
Author's note: these poems were inspired by the life of Elizabeth Tilley Howland (1607-1680) a Mayflower traveler, pilgrim and survivor. All events portrayed in these poems are purely fictional.
Artwork: Stormy Sea, Brighton, 20 July 1828
Artist: John Constable (1776-1837) Constable has been hailed as one of the greatest British landscape painters, renowned for his 'pure and unaffected representation of nature.'
Yale Center for British Art, Paul Mellon Collection
image source: http://images.artnet.com/images_US/magazine/features/karlins/karlins5-17-07-4s.jpg
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rehfeld
January 2009 
Ariana
Access: Public
