A Poem in Honor of Mary Magdalene

“First Apostle”

Now
his body writhes
in pain:

one it was
my delight,
now it is my sorrow.

Blood drains
from arms that held me close.
now they are fixed
and life has fled
from flesh and bone.

As we take him from
wood to earth,
all is silent,
empty—

passion
surrenders
to another love
that is not here
or there

but rides the breath
of a greater mystery
confounding
the finite corpus
of my desires.

No longer the object
of my affections,
he has become the subject of my truth.

The memory of
his love
no longer clings to
the skin of my life,
he has dissolved
the mirage
of separation
and pours
the pure wine of
his presence into
the waiting
chalice of my heart.

—Robert T. Pynn