Last Supper
by Maria Giura
I.
Beneath the tabernacle
in St. James Church,
a marble Last Supper.
Shocked faces,
flailing arms,
hands reaching to touch Him
as if it will reverse fate,
except for Judas who dips his hand
and this disciple at Jesus’s right
whom I can’t look away from.
Long hair, soft face
leaning into love.
I’m not making it up;
I don’t want to be a priest.
There’s someone feminine
at Jesus’ right hand,
and she knows.
II.
Beneath the tabernacle
in St. James Church,
a marble Last Supper.
Shocked faces,
flailing arms,
hands reaching to touch Him
as if it will reverse fate,
except for Judas who dips his hand
and this disciple at Jesus’ right
whose hair is long
and face soft,
who leans into love.
Staring into him
still young enough
to be feminine,
I finally understand
why he’s the one Jesus loved.
Maria Giura is the author of What My Father Taught Me (Bordighera Press) and Celibate: A Memoir (Apprentice House), which won the 2020 First Place Independent Press Award for Religion Nonfiction. Her writing has appeared in journals including Prime Number, Presence, (Voices) in Italian Americana, Lips, Tiferet, and the Paterson Literary Review. An Academy of American Poets winner, Maria has taught writing at multiple universities, including Binghamton, where she received her PhD in English. Learn more about her at mariagiura.com.
