blossoms hang
from the cursed Judas Tree
IX — Jude
How horrid to live with a tainted name
to be so easily confused with one who sold your Lord
Who could blame you Jude
for going by Thaddaeus afterward?
I’m with you too in wondering why
Christ wouldn’t show himself to the world
Is this why they say you went to Syria
to Libya to Armenia to show him yourself?
O patron saint of lost causes
under either of your names
when the iconographers paint you
they show your Pentecostal flames
O Courageous Heart he said he’d show
himself to those who love him hiding
behind parables siding with the dogs
beneath the children’s table & so
you sought to spread that love
as much as you were able
X — Thomas Didymus
When Mary Magdalene said she’d seen
the Lord it was strangely disappointing
One of the worst women saved from the street
to have been first I knew it must be true
that’s just what he would do but then
when I was the only one to fight fear
& search for myself the others lagging behind
it was like the soldier’s spear went right through
me too when I returned to hear
the others bragging (that was the worst)
that I was the only one not to have been there
not to have seen where his hands were pierced
I went into denial I won’t believe I said
Anything less than my fingers in his wounds
won’t be enough My words sounded odd
to my ears A week later I was among
them when he appeared & called my bluff
My Lord & my God Conviction rolled off my tongue
XI — Simon Peter
After they’d climbed the hilltop there came the switch
The scene suddenly defied comprehension bright
streams of light poured from every pore of the Lord’s being
& glistened white from every transfigured stitch
in his clothing obscuring all else The others
awestruck knew enough to listen & watch
but Peter mumbled something asinine wanting to set
up little shrines for Christ & the two prophets
His tongue often stumbled ahead He wouldn’t let
the Lord wash his feet & then wanted to be washed
head to foot He’d follow to the death he said
but blurted denial to a little servant girl Yet
he’d stepped over the gunwale into the wake
of their storm-tossed ship he dove into the lake
to reach Christ on the beach & put first into speech
the foundation rock that would change the world
XII — John the Beloved
When my brother & I first left our father’s nets
who could have predicted this index of where the Lord
would lead? Twelve to eleven to an uncountable
expanse of stars to Persia to Egypt to Rome
to death by sword by stoning being sawn in two
beheaded & crucified Andrew on an X
cross & Peter upside down They each boldly told
of what they’d seen as they died
Domitian tried to silence me sent me alone to Patmos
where I received a vision of the luminous Word
aglow like pristine snow & pure gold
encircled by seven lampstands It was no less
dumbfounding than watching a girl who’d died
being lifted to her feet no less astounding
than having seen him aglow
with Elijah & Moses on the high hillside
Our understanding was incomplete
We were so numb to wonder that through his deep
agony in Gethsemane we actually fell asleep
then waked in panic & scattered like sheep
whose shepherd’s been struck just as he’d said
we would As I stood beneath his dying
he assigned me to tend to his crying mother
whose battered heart ached
Like thunder the earth quaked as noon imitated
midnight & he became like any other dead man
On the third day I was the one who outran
Peter to the tomb up in Galilee I was the one
who recognize him on the shore & I was among
those who watched him rise to the skies
to be seen no more This is why I was willing to die
or grow to old age proclaiming the Son of Man
The Camera Lies
484 Waterloo Street, London, Ontario
I had never thought of it as a lie let alone
of us as conspirators It’s September of 1968
& we’re posed on the porch for a photograph
As eldest son standing straight & still at the centre
of the cluster I wear a slender tie probably a clip-on
& stare at the camera until distracted last second
My kid brother squirms too young to pretend
but I help preserve the monochromatic illusion
standing on the steps of my great aunt’s grand house
Portrait With Eyes Turned Aside
I’ve seen you look into a store window
the way I look into a book
Like you I begin with what’s inside
like you distracted
when you find your image there
adjusting an errant strand of hair
Any word can form itself
unbidden