Judas, did you look
from afar at Golgotha Road–
could you see the trail of blood
and of tears
unweepable by no one
but God the Son?
And in the earthquake when everything was rent,
did your heart split in two
as your act rang out, gonging

over and over
in your ears,
in your head in your hands?

Nothing dramatic
for me.
Every day the edges of Judas
curl within,
a warping under the linoleum
pushing up,
cracking veneer.
I’m an Everyday Judas
like father Adam and mother Eve,
a yellow betrayal hiding in shadows.

But I have a Judas-mask of
justified-hardness-social-consciousness
which I turn to Christ
who even still willingly
takes my betrayer’s kiss,
and turns out to be the merciful breaking thaw of hard winter
when sun’s warmth
brings crashing to the ground only the dead limbs
clearing
for the light.

Even an Everyday Judas can embrace
this kind of breaking
if I means I can be warm.

Charity Johnson, 2013, 2014