knowing what to do for when
the Master had asked me about buying
the crowd bread my faith was too little
to say
When we reclined at the table with Jesus
he began to wash our feet Peter couldn’t
see why he’d bother Thomas tripped
on knowing the way & I asked him to show
us the Father His responses were kind
even though on the eve of his sorrows
we were still so blind
IV — Andrew Son of Jonah
He’d always been my level-headed son
& so I let him wander the wilderness
after his bruised-reed prophet
since he’d always return to mend the nets
& chase another catch I’d thought
Simon was the impetuous one
but Andrew was as steady as a boat on sand
When the Baptiser admitted he wasn’t the man
he pointed out the Lamb of God
& Andrew was caught
He followed & brought Simon
& some other local boys along too
What was I supposed to do?
I only had a fishing life
& he had much more to offer than I’d got
I only wish it had been when I was young
that Messiah came not leaving me to fish
& grow old with the same ache in my bones
my two sons following the unknown
leaving me with naught
V — A Fisherman Called James
The expanse above peers into the depths
Here fishermen reap as though they’re netting
featherless birds from the blue hills
where cumulus sheep casually drift
Land sky & sea all merge in Galilee
They fish for musht grip heavy nets
which shimmer & rip into their hands
drip into water & into their cedar boat
The sons of Zebedee float across the face of the deep
lift sails high dip oars into the inverted sky
James & his brother grew up on this shore
familiar with the way squalls rip
over the hills whip up mountainous waves
& how the sea behaves
He knew how bad this storm was
darkness churning above & below
surges tossing them as he Peter Andrew
& John pulled at the tiny ship’s oars like slaves
fearing the spill of water over the gunwale
& so he was all the more startled
when all ceased at his Lord’s Peace be still
& yet on a similar night crossing after he got
over the shock was more able to accept
Christ’s walk across those shiny waves
Often while his ears listened to his Master talk
to the crowds his eyes would sail
over the Judean hills that appeared to undulate
like Galilee bearing boat-shaped clouds For years
he’d watched bright seabirds easily float
on a breeze that seemed as constant as water
as solid as earth & so again he was better prepared
when Jesus rose into the sky & disappeared from sight
VI — James the Less
In what way were you less? Shorter
younger shyer than that son of thunder
who shared your name? Not one to impress
or be given fame or the one who came
later to the band? Were you the same James
whose father was Alphaeus the one whose mother
was a second Mary beneath the cross
the second mentioned among the women
at the tomb? Would you confess
to taking the blame to feeling the worst
to seeing yourself whenever he would bless
the least in the kingdom? Step up James
claim your place Remember he said
the last shall be first
VII — Simon the Zealot
When I was a child in my father’s home
before I was presented at the temple
in the days when Joazar the priest
would have sold us all for peace
Judas the Galilean prevented
such subjection to the hated ways of Rome
Some say he was a brigand when he raided
a palace & armoury & carried away the gold
After his death his insurrection faded
At first I found another to follow from Galilee
for I was bold to smother the Gentile breath
we breathe He told us he came to bring a sword
between brothers but it became a spiritual flame
His authority out-burned the Pharisees
for by his own name he cast out demons
I took on a new zeal far more real
with true connection to Israel’s consolation
For this cause I’d even be sawn in two
VIII — The Judas Tree
Cercis Siliquastrum
From within the alabaster skull of a man
better off unborn
throbs the pressure of regret
The hand that dipped into the bags
that dipped bread in the dish
that reached for bloody stars
now scatters to the ground a silver constellation
for the burial of aliens
& strangers
Too late No return Too late
The garden’s salty kiss of blood
stains his lips ripe
like Zechariah’s prophesy
Irretrievable
as the spikenard of devotion He grasps
for consolation