After the Last Supper


This poem first appeared in The Molehill Volume 4.

The dirt mingled
in the water.
Three years’ worth.

Even the traitor’s.
Even the denier’s.
(Already named at the table—
for there is no past,
or future
in one who is
older than time.)

Peter resisted.
Would I have also?

Said no
to my king bowed low,
towel in hand,
wiping the dust
of the earth he owns?

The foot-worn
mud and grime
of past,
and future
dissolve in

Jen was born and raised in central Florida, but now lives in the strange land of southern New England. Her words have appeared in TS Poetry’s Every Day Poems, CCM Magazine, and other publications, and she recently released her first poetry collection Ruins & Kingdoms. Some of her favorite things include used bookstores, good coffee, messing about in the kitchen, and local adventures with her husband Chris.

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