Sister of Martha

There was no star in the East the night I came With spikenard in hushed Jerusalem— But a light in an upper chamber dimly lit Was star enough—I would have followed it Through lonelier streets unto the smaller room Where afterwards it blossomed in the tomb. Light of the world, but how much more to me The light that other women also see! No choiring angels in gold groups adored Their king that night, but searching for my Lord Unchoired, uncrowned, whose Kingdom had not come, I heard none call, but dumb, as death is dumb, The night misled his angels, or may be Night and the angels made a way for me. My footfalls in the street rang very clear As I drew on. It seemed that all must hear My coming, eyes that peered behind the grating, Cloaked hands to hold me at each corner waiting. But nothing stirred till suddenly there ran The flame of the moon in heaven for a span Less than a heart-beat, and I saw a man Steal out of Simon’s house, and pass me by With such a horror on his lips that I, Also a traitor, shrunk and knew him not— Him that was Judas called Iscariot. Also a traitor I, because I came Not worshipping the Master in that Name That his disciples called him, not the Christ Of God for me that night. I sought a tryst With a man of men, and if my heart had won The Son of God had died in Mary’s son, And he, who, knowing the appointed evil, Sent forth Iscariot to his task, a devil, Also accepted, though this was more hard, The sweet betrayal of the spikenard. He knew me what I meant and in his eyes, That for a moment smiled, was Paradise Lost unto love, that for the greater sin Than even Judas’ might not enter in. And when the disciples would have stayed my hands, “She does but good” He said “she understands.” And I who poured the unguent understood, But good it was not, as a man means good. For I forget the Master, I but see (A woman taken in adultery With a dream and a dream) his human face I would have saved from God, and in the place Of Gospel and of resurrection I Hear him say “Mary” and behold him die. Judas, to death who sold him for a kiss, Sinned less than I, who’d buy him back for this. And Christ forgave me—How shall I forgive Jesus, my love, the man who would not live?