Wednesday, March 1, 2017

The Imposition of Ashes

In like a lion,
I could complain. You are already
taking care to deliver this day,
to bless through curses,
in like rape, out like labor,

life out of death, out of mothballs.
Here I sense no wickedness at all,
but the persistent inconvenience
of the work of God.

It is an imposition
to be human. To face the mirror
and the toilet and have both
deny your divinity. Glass and porcelain
flesh and bone and stray silver hair
bear witness to decay. I'll take it.

For days we borrow, forty days You loan
and lean down to transmogrify. A party
in the ferns, a table spread with invisible
fruit. With secret teacups we have sipped
together; what kisses You give in all weather.
Carry me like the child I am.
In like an infant,
out like a lamb.

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