Our Judith

Our Judith

E. Edward Horne

She is determined in the Caravaggio
Fistful of hair and swift decisive action
Blood untouching her white garment
Even in the act preserved from all stain

Though the real Judith, our Judith
—Not this serious immaculate Caravaggio,
Not the aggressively sensual Klimt—
Remains veiled by the text, we can imagine

She tasted wine in the blood spattering
Her lips, fine clothing sticky
With still-secret victory, the debauched
Palled and sprawled inert

Her heart cracked ribs with its thumping
Playing it cool past the guards, hurrying
Up the dusty road to Bethulia, freedom in the bag
Staring silently, starting to stink.

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E. Edward Horne
Poet & Eclectic

E. Edward has been published or has work forthcoming in Asses of Parnassus and Visions International. He lives in Virginia with his wife and children.

Painting by Caravaggio