Marilyn Kallet

Soaked, by Marilyn Kallet
November 11, 2012 Kallet Marilyn

Soaked

 

At the friary lunch we chat about End of Days,

and who was at the Last Supper. John and Peter

 

to the left of Jesus, Judas clutching his moneybag,

verklempt on the right, Mary Magdalene. I’m playing her,

 

in my splashy red-rose dress and Jewish sarcasm.

Bro Jesus at our table is Latin, too good-looking.

 

When he confesses he has a poem to share,

I’ll be damned if I swoon. I pitch San Juan’s “Poem

 

for the Ascent of Mount Carmel,” stained

with the poet’s erotic sweat for God.

 

Old Father Conrad flashes snapshots of his macaw,

that he has trained to shriek, “Praise be the Lord!”

 

He ministers at the cancer ward—no one begrudges him

a flamboyant bird in his room.

 

No one but Benjamin Péret, and he’s crammed

between acid-free pages of a paperback.

 

Sometimes in the morning my desk is wet

from condensation of the water glass.

 

But I dream Benny’s been here, spitting

from the grave at every priest he spies,

 

soaking them like a loaded Surrealist

in the day. Now he drives the bus to Père Lachaise.

 

What happened to you, Benny,

in that vestry in la Vendée, behind those heavy

 

curtained robes?

Marilyn Kallet is the author of 18 books, including How Our Bodies Learned, The Love That Moves Me and Packing Light: New and Selected Poems, poetry from Black Widow Press. She is Nancy Moore Goslee Professor of English at the University of Tennessee. She has performed her poems across the U.S. as well as in France and Poland, as a guest of the U.S. Embassy’s “America Presents” program.