Y una mas . . .

I began this one at mass today. After several attempts I finished the poem and managed to fold my palms into three crucifixes.

Days of Lent


Lenten days are bare as church altares,
santos hidden beneath purple cloth.

I am hungry.

Four days ago, I awoke to snow and ice,
the sun weak behind steel cloud curtains.

Yesterday was bright with light,
the bend in my arms itched with sweat.

Shortened days have become long. Winter is done.
The ice has melted its last.

Tonight, the winds have knocked trash cans into empty streets.

Evergreens scratch against the bedroom window.
It is too hot for blankets, sand begins to coat the sill.
These early movements of spring are familiar as beauty
marks on your face.
I traced them once while you slept. The belt of Orion
moved when you laughed.

Palm Sunday brings red silk. I twist fronds into one
crucifix. Then another . . .
and another.

Next February, these palms will mark our foreheads,
the days of abstinence will begin again.
Except now, it is spring. Green dusts the bosque.

The fast is almost over.

I wait for resurrection.