Ron Yazinski


As the Rabbi said, “Blessed are the meek…”
Judas edged close enough to Magdalene to smell the spice in her hair.
Feeling him brush her arm, she smiled,
Then turned back to the Master.

But for Judas, within this throng,
There was only her bone-white cheek,
Her eyes like dots on dice,
Her hair as black as the space between stars.
He imagined burying his face in it,
As she leaned over him,
Trembling in her pleasure,
Before sinking onto his chest,
Whimpering she had finally found a real man.

He was still in the midst of his reverie
When the Rabbi finished and motioned for Magdalene to join him.
As the crowd dispersed, counting on their fingers
The ways to attain eternal life,
Judas lingered on the scent of her hair.



The last thing his father said to him was that he did not fear eternity
As long as he knew that his ashes would be mingled with his wife’s forever.
To that end, his father asked him to mix their ashes together
And to scatter them in Florida where they had been happiest.

So he and his young son are driving across Florida,
Not to see Universal and Disney,
But to stand on Cocoa Beach and cast his father’s ashes into the Atlantic;
Before retracing their route to scatter his step-mom’s in the Gulf of Mexico.

No longer would he have to pretend he was ok with his parents’ divorce.
Not only would this make his ailing mother happy,
It would teach his son a lesson about loyalty and love,
Something he would always remember.