The Women of the Last Supper.(Poem)

   Definitely there, behind the scenes, 
   they worked as always, preparing 
   for the event they had not been invited 
   to; though certainly their work 
 
   was invited, their good food, its warm 
   inviting smells. Their hair like gleaming 
   rags rubbed the table to a glassy shine, 
   which reflected on that night of nights 
 
   the invited men watching, the cup, 
   the bread, raised high. But that was later, 
   after. When the women arrived it was 
   daybreak and light poured ...