From Ann Glover O’Dell’s Scripture Surplice:
The Magdalen
in pouring out the flask of oil
was pouring out
her rarest treasure
essence of herself
a giving that forever since
a metaphor becomes
of most complete outpouring
of one’s personality
the willful letting go
of all accumulations
of a life lived out
as all are lived
as best as can
given circumstance and temperament
and whatever one inherits
to be dealt with
in whatever way one can.
The witnesses
condemned
extravagance representing
many days employment recompense
camouflaging shame
and lack of generosity
to one who gave to them
projecting on the poor
in glib self-righteousness
condemned
that which they
in calculated summing
of their work
could not imagine
gifting without statistics
ledger noted
but not prodigious waste
like oil bath on one man’s feet
in wasteful liberality.
Scandalized no doubt
were those there
who saw the unbound hair
fall as in boudoir privacy
prefiguring the loosening of garments
that worldly dress confines
the loosening of inhibitions
as hair pins fall
unbinding tresses
tightly coiled
for social more sake
a moment intimate
away from prying eyes
yet here the eyes see movement
and the mouths give testimony
judgment on the liquid spilled.
But words don’t flow
responding to the loosened tresses
and such sensual act
as wiping feet with hair.
Instead
condemned audacity
of entrance to the space
reserved for men
by such blatant show
beyond decorum limits
by a willful wanton woman
condemned presumption
in tending to the washing
of the dusty feet whose
job was purview of the
servant host.
And we who never felt
the lush outpouring of extravagance
in something more than monetary goods
wonder what response we’d make
to some surprise intrusion in our orderliness
with embarrassing potential
scandalized at some dream character
entering where our door is barred
to all but those invited and expected
Can we discover some expectancy
or deep desire
that somewhere
sometime
somehow
something
would lavish
some extravagance
in such a way
that we would never lose
the fragrance
or the memory
that we were singled out
for joy?
Perhaps some day
our deepest soul
will lavish
the anointing oil
on us.