Behind barbed wire In the county jail Woman recites poetry; Declares she’ll die. Bodies young, old Form lines. Summoned to penance, Knowing they’ll die. Bodies in lines Words in lines Dust and grime Ash to ash Dust to dust A friar smudges symbol into brow after brow. The texture: touch, trust. We are blackened by…
Oh God, who desire not the death of sinners, but their conversion, mercifully hear our prayers and in your kindness be pleased to bless these ashes, which we intend to receive upon our heads, that we, who acknowledge we are but ashes shall return to dust, may, through a steadfast observance of Lent, gain pardon for sins…
Most days, our schedules are clogged with avoidance: We’d rather ignore the inevitable smudge of human decay. This morning though, Ash Wednesday, we step into lines and confront the truth of pain. We allow strangers to mark us with a message of paradox. Remember, you are dust. To dust you will return….
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