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POETRY

“The Feet of Judas,” read by Andrew McCartney.

The Feet of Judas

The clean feet of Judas stride into the night,
Treading memories
Down
In the dust of Adam
Dash the feet Christ’s hands freshly washed,
Slide the sandals loosed by one
Whose straps immortal John would not unbind.

Unbound so late. Too late?
What about on the moonlit road to the temple,
Coins clinking through fingers brushed with crumbs
Christ had broken, or pressed
Against an olive tree, leading
Midnight masses at his heel to the healer,
See him stretched there? Hear his voice?
Or at the kiss, the soft rebuke,
The numbness like a noose.

The clean feet of Judas climb into the night,
Then totter, kick,
Sway.
Did it have to be this way?
Whose feet have Christ’s hands ever cleansed
More dear?
To one who finds himself in love
He wants out of
Nothing is easier.

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Andrew D. McCartney lives in southwest Ohio, where he practices constitutional law. Along with writing fiction and poetry, he enjoys hiking in the nearby nature preserves with his wife and daughter.

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Artwork: Jesus washing Peter’s feet (1852-6) by Ford Madox Brown. Public Domain.