In Lent . . . Easter!

 

Ashes

In my hands,

heavy,

like a five-pound bag of flour, or, better, 

sugar,

wrapped in brown paper, hard and somewhat crinkly,

yielding grudgingly to the pressure

of cupped fingers.

Yet

when I pulled out her favorite

Swiss Army knife,

and with gentle care slid the clean bright blade into the top,

peeling the paper back as a surgeon

must have peeled the scalp back

before boring through her skull

searching for the tumor,

And on bended knee

in the early summer dirt

knelt

and poured the ashes

of my beloved

into the grave,

pouring them

down,

down,

down

into the deep carved grave,

I discovered the lightness of ashes,

the emptiness of the tomb,

the truth of the Apostle’s words,

“O death, where is thy victory?”

as they came puffing lightly back up and out,

Uncontainable

-- RRB